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THE MAN 

WHO DISCOVERED 
HIMSELF 


BY 

WILLIS GEORGE EMERSON 

Author of “Buell Hampton,” “The Treasure 
of Hidden Valley,” etc. 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. HUTCHINS 


CHICAGO 

FORBES & COMPANY 
1919 


COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
FORBES AND COMPANY 




f 


A 

©CI.A529097 ,, \ ( 

a" S'* 

JUL "7 i'j' 9 


* f\ t. 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Shoe-Pegger of Venice 9 

II Glimpses from the Past 22 

III The Lonely Breadwinner 37 

IV Tiger-Lilies and Cowslips 45 

V Down and Out 52 

VI Bernice Becomes Engaged 60 

VII The Calling Wilderness 67 

VIII Renunciation 75 

IX Departure 83 

X Toward the Land of Exile 92 

XI Miriam’s Emancipation 100 

XII The Buzzards’ Roost 109 

XIII In the Depths 119 

XIV A Youthful Optimist 128 

XV Rehabilitation 140 

XVI Rejuvenation 147 

XVII The Passing of Marsh Gordon .... 156 

XVIII The Parting 162 

XIX Paths That Met 169 

XX The Opening Way 179 

XXI Plans Ahead 186 

XXII Desert Combers 193 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIII 

Jim’s First Deal 

page 

XXIV 

Adios, Submarine 


XXV 

An Old Friend 


XXVI 

Turning Cattleman 


XXVII 

Stock-Taking 


XXVIII 

Love’s Young Dream 

. . 247 

XXIX 

Bessie Speaks Her Mind .... 

• • 255 

XXX 

A Patron of Art 

. . 265 

XXXI 

The Great Round-Up 

. . 272 

XXXII 

In the City of Phoenix .... 

. . 281 

XXXIII 

The New Governor of Arizona . 

• • 293 

XXXIV 

A Woman’s Intuition 

• • 303 

XXXV 

Ned’s Promotion 

’ • 315 

XXXVI 

“She Never Could Understand" 

• • 324 


THE MAN 

WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


CHAPTER I 

THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 

A WAY in the Far West it was evening — the even- 
ing of a lazy and balmy and sunshiny day. Out 
across the broad Pacific the sun, big, red and round 
and thickly shrouded with haze, hung near the horizon. 
Crimson and violet and softer opalescent tints played 
on the outer semi-circle of fleecy clouds, painting the 
sky with surpassing glory and loveliness. The white- 
sanded shore line of the ocean was peopled with many 
bathers. The inrolling wavelets with gentle swish 
were dreamily whispering their tales of mystery. 

It was mid-May, and Venice-by-the-Sea was 
thronged with many visitors. The Speedway was 
crowded with gliding motor cars, every side street 
packed with other machines in waiting. Booths and 
shows and bazaars were doing a thriving business. 
Several little parties of friends were already turning 
their steps toward the Ship Hotel out on the pier, for 
it was nearing the dinner hour and the gentle sea breeze 
had given early zest to appetite. In the tiny plaza the 
great orchestra of fifty pieces was playing a selection 
from “ Madame Butterfly.” Just beyond, the clerks in 

9 


10 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


stores and mercantile establishments were busily finish- 
ing their day’s work, keen for the evening’s rest and 
recreation. And touching everything with its rich, 
ruddy radiance the mighty ball of the sun was sinking 
gradually and majestically toward the ocean sky line, 
yielding dominion for the night to the myriad lamps 
and Chinese lanterns that were already beginning to 
impart luminous tracery to domes and towers and the 
other bizarre architectural features of a transplanted 
Coney Island. 

In the main thoroughfare a beautiful little girl of 
perhaps twelve or thirteen years, with bright blue eyes 
and a wealth of golden curls descending to her shoul- 
ders, came tripping merrily along the sidewalk, and 
turned into a large shoe store in whose windows was 
displayed footwear in bewildering variety of colors, 
patterns, and materials calculated to woo the pocket- 
books of both the fanciful and utilitarian. 

Little Bessie Gordon walked by the clerks, smiling 
and nodding to one and the other in a half-shy way, 
but hurried on and disappeared through a door in the 
rear of the store. 

“ Who is that sweet, lovely child ? ” inquired a lady 
customer. 

The assistant in a half-smiling way replied : “ The 

shoe-pegger’s daughter.” 

“ Oh,” said the lady with mild surprise as she went 
on examining the dainty slippers that had been sub- 
mitted for her approval. Her interest in the little 
damsel had evidently evaporated with the knowledge 
of her humble station. 

In the little back room, Marsh Gordon, the cobbler. 


THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 


ii 


was busily pounding away with his hammer as he re- 
soled a tiny pair of well-worn shoes that might have 
been consigned to the discard by hands less skilled and 
resourceful. He was a tall man, with the stooping 
shoulders of his occupation. His figure was slim and 
lean almost to the point of emaciation — on the scales 
he would perhaps not have tipped a hundred pounds. 
But his head seemed out of proportion to his attenu- 
ated frame — it was big, high-domed, the expansive 
forehead fringed with scanty brown locks in which the 
pepper-gray was just beginning to show. The face 
was clean-shaven except for the upper lip, and from 
beneath heavy eyebrows the steel-blue eyes gleamed 
with almost preternatural brightness, showing that 
physical failure had not dimmed the fire of the soul 
within. Altogether an intellectual countenance, and, 
as is not infrequent in the shoe-making and shoe-mend- 
ing trade, also a man of intellectual tastes, the observer 
might have added, as he ran an eye over the row of 
books on a narrow shelf behind the cobbler’s bench, or 
glanced at the opened page of a volume on a reading 
stand close by, Prescott’s “ Conquest of Peru.” 

As he pegged with unseeing yet mathematical certi- 
tude the humble cobbler of Venice had his eyes on the 
printed page and his mind far away in the bygone days 
of the vanished Incas. The evening shadows were 
closing around him, but there was still just sufficient 
light for his task and for his reading. 

An interruption came with the entrance of his baby 
daughter Bessie. In her hand was a little bunch of 
sweet-scented violets, which she eagerly presented to 
him. 


12 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ These are for you, dear daddy,” said the child in 
a voice that vibrated with deep affection. 

The shoe-pegger took the flowers between his waxed, 
blackened fingers, and into his cavernous eyes came the 
divine glow of fatherly love. 

“ And where did my sweet Bessie get the lovely vio- 
lets ? ” he asked, sniffing their fragrance appreciatively 
as he beamed upon the child with his fatherly good 
nature. 

“ Out of our own garden,” she answered proudly. 
“ Our first spring violets. And oh, papa, you ought 
to see some other new blooms that are just opening 
out. They are the prettiest I ever did see in all my 
life. They had nothing at Wellesley or any other 
place in Massachusetts half as pretty as those flowers 
of ours.” 

“ Well, I never was at Wellesley, you know, my 
dear, but I am willing to take your judgment, Bessie. 
Whatever you tell me I’m sure is right.” 

Bessie nodded her wise little head and shook her 
curls over her shoulders as much as to say: “ You 
may well take my word on the violet question.” 

“ So you think these flowers are the prettiest ever? ” 
continued the father, smilingly, as he placed them on 
the reading stand. 

“ I'm positive. Besides they are our very own — 
out of our own garden, daddy.” 

“ Perhaps that is just why they are so very, very 
beautiful, sweetheart,” remarked the father, tenderly, 
as he drew the little maid to him and let his fingers 
wander affectionately among her rippling tresses ; “ be- 
cause they are your very own flowers, Bessie, and be- 


THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 


13 


cause you are beginning to fall in love with Califor- 
nia.^ 

“ Beginning ! ” exclaimed the child. “ I fell in love 
with it the very day our train came down the San 
Bernardino Valley. And I loved it more still when I 
found you waiting for us here in Venice, with our 
pretty new home, and no more partings again, daddy, 
for mama, or sister, or you, or me, or any of us,” she 
went on with delightful volubility and emphatic sin- 
cerity. 

Bessie would have kissed her father, but he put her 
gently from him and turned his head away as, with 
finger tips raised to his lips, he gave utterance to a 
short, rasping cough. 

“ That bothersome cold,” murmured Bessie, sympa- 
thetically. 

“ Oh, it will soon be gone,” he replied with a touch 
of sadness in his tone and an enigmatic look in his eyes 
as he nodded to his little daughter. Then with an 
alert movement he went on in brighter tone : “ But I 

must get through with this job, Bessie. You’ll wait 
for me, won’t you ? ” 

He resumed his hammer, and the swift rhythmical 
pegging resounded once more through the room. 

“ Of course, daddy. I came here to bring you home. 
I just love the walk along the sea-front with you every 
evening. And it must be almost six o’clock now. 
Mama had started to get your supper ready before I 
left home. You know there is to be company tonight. 
Burn is coming — I mean Mr. Hopkins ” — she cor- 
rected herself with a saucy little smile — “ and Bernice 
is dolling herself up to beat the band. But why is it, 


14 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


daddy, that you never come into the house when there’s 
company? You miss all sorts of fun.” 

She waited for a reply. He hesitated for a moment 
before making answer. 

“ Because I like the open air, and the quietness of my 
screened room.” 

“ Oh, it must be just lovely to sleep in the open air, 
I know,” replied Bessie. “ But you needn’t be away 
in the backyard all the time, papa.” 

He paused in his work, and again coughed behind 
his hand. 

“ Your mother does not like my cough, Bessie dear, 
and Bernice also objects because of her friends. And 
quite right, too,” he added, resolutely and resignedly. 
“ No infirm person should allow himself to become a 
kill- joy, eh, little girl? Besides, I have my books, re- 
member, and I’m never so happy as when I am read- 
ing.” 

“ But it must be awfully miserable — all the time 
all alone,” protested the child, with a dubious shake of 
her curly head. 

The shoe-pegger resumed his task after a glance at 
the little wooden clock upon the wall. “ Five minutes 
to six, Bessie,” he said, “ and I’ll be through with this 
job on time.” 

The child no longer interrupted. Her glance wan- 
dered about the room. She counted the pairs of shoes 
already mended, ranged along a shelf, each with its 
identifying red tag-label. Then she looked a little re- 
sentfully at the big box containing a heaped-up assort- 
ment of more or less demoralized footwear awaiting 
repair. Next the volume on the reading stand inter- 


THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 


15 


ested her enough for her to bend forward and decipher 
the title on the opened page. After the all-round sur- 
vey her eyes returned to the cobbler on the bench. 

“ My, how fast you peg,” she murmured, as she 
watched the automatic, regular clap, clap, clap of the 
shoe hammer on the little wooden pegs deftly placed 
in position by the worker’s left hand. 

Just then the door was opened abruptly, and in 
walked one of the proprietors, saying : 

“ I say, Gordon, can you fix another pair of shoes 
tonight ? ” 

He took no notice of Bessie, as the child sat in her 
corner with gathering brows and lips pressed tight in 
silent protest. 

The cobbler stopped pegging, coughed apologetically 
behind his palm, then examined the latest pair of shoes 
that needed mending. His inspection completed, he 
said : 

“ Yes, Mr. Brown. But will after dinner do? I 
can come back, you know.” 

“ They are wanted right away.” 

“ Well, it’s quite a job — half an hour at least.” 

“ I’ll find out. But I rather think you’ll have to fix 
them now.” And placing the shoes on a little table, he 
left the room to consult his customer. 

When the door was again closed, Bessie’s unvoiced 
protest changed to open resentment. 

“ What a shame ! ” she exclaimed, stamping her 
tiny foot. “ And you so tired after your long day’s 
work, daddy dear! I don’t like that man at all. I 
don’t think he’s nice ’cause he don’t talk nice to you. 
He’s just a mean old boss.” 


i6 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Hush, my dear,” murmured her father, with a 
half-timorous glance in the direction of the doorway. 
“ Besides, we must be considerate,” he went on in 
soothing apology for the brusque words and manner 
of his employer. “ Perhaps he is irritated about other 
things. We can never tell just what the reason is that 
impels to seeming harshness.” 

“ Well, I hope they can wait until tomorrow for 
their tiresome old shoes,” pouted the child. “ I want 
you to come home with me. And mama made me 
promise I wouldn’t wait one minute after six o’clock. 
She don’t like me to be out after dark, you know, even 
with you, daddy, for she says the mists come up this 
time of the year and aren’t good for little girls.” 

Gordon was busy again with his hammer, intent on 
completing the immediate task on hand. After a few 
taps, he stopped to inspect his work finally. Silence 
fell upon the room, broken only by the sounds outside. 

“ Oh, do you hear the car ? ” exclaimed little Bessie 
eagerly. “ Swish ! Bang ! Gee ! that’s the scenic 
railway, daddy. I can hear it clear here. Goodness, 
how it rushes down one hill, then up another, then 
down again and round a corner. Such a lot of won- 
derful painted scenery! They call it ‘ A Trip through 
the Clouds.’ You know I’ve been on it, papa, with 
Bernice and Burn.” 

“ Is that so ? ” inquired the father, as he chalked the 
cost of the job upon one of the soles. “ Twenty-five 
cents, I reckon,” he murmured, bestowing a glance at 
the clock, the hands of which had now passed the ap- 
pointed hour for Bessie’s return home. 

He rose, straightened out his bent form and placed 


THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 


17 

the shoes, after rubbing them with a cloth, at the end 
of the row of regenerated footwear. Then he looked 
down with a kindly smile at the little girl. 

“ And when did my bonnie Bessie go riding on the 
scenic railway cars? I did not know you had been 
venturing anything more formidable than the merry- 
go-round.” 

“ Oh, Burn — I mean Mr. Hopkins — took us both 
for a trip through the clouds this afternoon. My, you 
should have heard Bernice scream. She held tight to 
Burn — closed on him like a clam.” 

The child was laughing now, her face lit up with the 
merriment of memory. 

“ This Mr. Hopkins must be a very nice man/’ re- 
marked her father. 

“ He surely is,” was her emphatic reply. “ I like 
him awfully, and I feel certain he likes me, for he often 
brings me a box of candy.” 

“ How could he help liking you, my dear? ” 

“ Well, I don't care,” continued the child, half pout- 
ing, and disregarding the compliment implied by her 
father's question. “ When we got home Bernice was 
cross, and told me I had acted just like I was tagging 
along to get a ride. And I wasn't tagging at all. He 
asked me, and seemed pleased to have me too, for he 
took hold of my hand at the worst places. But I never 
screeched like Bernice, nor put my arms around his 
neck. I just pretended not to see her do it. Wasn’t 
that right, daddy dear ? ” 

“ Quite right, sweetheart,” was his reply as he 
nodded and smiled down knowingly at the child. 

“ My, but we must be getting home,” exclaimed Bes- 


18 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


sie, glancing at the clock, then jumping to her feet and 
shaking out the folds of her short skirt. 

She had forgotten the proprietor, but at this very 
moment came a cruel reminder. The door half 
opened, and Mr. Brown’s face was thrust in. 

“ I say, Gordon, you’ll have to fix those shoes right 
away.” 

With this curt and unceremonious injunction the 
door was slammed shut again. 

It was almost dark now. Marsh Gordon turned and 
switched on the electric light. An incandescent 
glowed forth from just above his cobbler’s bench. He 
looked a trifle sheepishly at his little daughter. He 
noticed the proud, defiant anger on her face, as again 
she stamped her foot impatiently and indignantly. He 
was conscious that the child must be counting him a. 
good deal of a slave. 

“ I wouldn’t stay, papa,” she exclaimed determin- 
edly. “ Your supper will be all spoiled. I ’spise that 
horrible man worse than ever.” 

Gordon laid a gentle hand on her heaving shoulders. 

“ Well, well, Bessie dear, it’s all right. Work must 
always be attended to, my child. Some little boy has 
no shoes until he has these fixed, I expect, and so I’ll 
hurry up and mend them, and then I’ll come home. 
Tell your mama to put my supper out in my room. 
It won’t matter if it’s cold. Make her mind easy that 
I won’t disturb her or Bernice and their friends. Now 
trot off, my dear little girl, or she’ll be scolding you for 
having lingered.” 

While speaking he took the shoes to be repaired in 


THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 


19 


his hand, and again sat down on the leather-bottomed 
seat of the low-set bench. 

“ I know I must,” replied Bessie regretfully, as she 
turned toward the side door. “ But I’ll beg hard to be 
allowed to come back for you in half-an-hour.” She 
turned the handle and opened the door a few inches. 
“ Oh, I’m not going to walk down through that cruel 
man’s store. I’m just going out by this side door here 
— the way you come and go, papa. And when I get 
back I’ll come in this way, too.” 

“ No, no, dear. You must not come back tonight.” 

A damp misty gust of air swept into the little room. 
Gordon coughed; it was several moments before he 
could control the paroxysm. Bessie gazed at him pity- 
ingly. 

“ It’s you who shouldn’t be out in the night air,” she 
said decisively. “ Don’t forget your top coat,” she 
added, pointing at the garment in question hanging 
from a peg behind the door. “ Well, goodby, daddy, 
for the present, in case I don’t get back.” And she 
reached up and patted his cheek with her plump little 
hand. 

“ All right, daughter. I’ll work as fast as I can on 
those shoes, and will surely be home within an hour. 
Bye, bye, until I see you again.” 

“ Bye, bye, papa dear.” 

The door closed. But suddenly it opened a few 
inches again, and Bessie’s curly head popped through 
the narrow aperture. 

“ By the way, pop, I believe Bernice is head over ears 
in love with Burn — I mean Mr. Hopkins. When she 


20 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


scolded me this evening I told her she could just have 
Burn Hopkins for her sweetheart if she wanted him, 
so long as I had you for mine.” 

And a merry little laugh floated back to him as the 
child again closed the door. 

For a few moments Marsh Gordon stood still. 
There was a sad, wistful smile on his face, the glint of 
tears in his eyes as he softly murmured : 

“ Sweet, little dear ! She at least loves her poor old 
father.” 

Then with a resolute effort emotion was put aside. 
Gordon laid hold of the shoes that had brought so much 
disappointment for Bessie — and for himself as well, 
for he dearly loved those evening walks home, holding 
the child’s hand in his own, listening to her joyous and 
innocent prattle. 

But he was the cobbler once again as he seated him- 
self on his bench, and threw his knee strap over one of 
the shoes preparatory to putting on a half sole. Be- 
fore he started work, however, he reached forth a 
hand, and closed the volume on the reading stand. 
That night the Incas had ceased to interest him. 

Soon the swift, methodical rat, tat, tat, was once 
more resounding. Occasionally he would glance at the 
flowers which Bessie had brought him, and a smile 
would light up his haggard countenance. 

“ Yes,” he murmured aloud, “ a simple little bunch 
of violets can bring a gleam of sunshine into a work- 
shop and a glow of pleasure to the heart even of an 
old shoe-pegger. So small a thing, perhaps, in itself, 
but what a miraculous transformation.” 


THE SHOE-PEGGER OF VENICE 


21 


He hammered on and on. And now his eyes were 
half closed. He was not sleepy — just meditatively 
inclined — thinking over and passing in review the 
days of long ago. 


CHAPTER II 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 

L IFE is a long and slow journey, but memory can 
re-traverse its tracks with the swiftness of an 
aeroplane. During that half-hour of pegging and 
stitching the mind of Marsh Gordon surveyed the hap- 
penings of half a century. The thought had come to 
him that some big crisis was looming ahead — its indi- 
cations as yet dark, mysterious, impalpable, yet none 
the less real, just like the vaguely felt oppressive atmos- 
pheric conditions that herald the thunderstorm. In 
preparing for possible events he was, so to speak, going 
through a process of mental stock-taking. 

Fifty years old and twenty-five years married — this 
was the summary of his chronological record. Both 
anniversaries, that of the half-century and that of the 
quarter-century, would fall due in a few weeks’ time. 
They were more than milestones; they were monu- 
ments that bade the traveller pause and ponder and cast 
an eye back along the road by which they had been at- 
tained. 

And Marsh Gordon’s contemplative gaze this night 
reached far away to boyhood days on the little farm in 
southwest Iowa where he had been born and reared. 
An only child, he had been early thrown into the com- 
panionship of books, and had acquired the habit of 
omnivorous reading that had remained with him all 
through subsequent years. The paternal homestead of 
22 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


23 


forty acres was located a few miles away from the 
county town of Creston, and it was here the boy had 
been educated, riding to and from school on a little 
pony, in all weathers, even when the rain poured down 
or the snow lay thick upon the ground. 

Just across from the high school building was a little 
church which his people had attended for many years, 
and Marsh was brought up under their God-fearing 
Christian faith. “ Most certainly,” he now mused to 
himself, “ it was the right life, and those old teachings 
cling to me yet; indeed, if we destroy a belief in the 
Bible or its teachings we destroy the dynamics of prog- 
ress and the genius of home, our very civilization 
itself 

Those were days of ruddy health and splendid char- 
acter-building, and when Marsh left the farm for the 
lure of town life he was a stalwart young fellow, vig- 
orous in mind and body, straight as a gun barrel, close 
on five feet eleven in his socks, square shouldered, mus- 
cled like an athlete. Added to these physical assets 
were the not-to-be despised attractions of rosy cheeks, 
clear steel-blue eyes, and a crown of curly fair hair. 
Yes, in those days Marsh Gordon had been a handsome 
chap; Creston society had proclaimed the fact, and 
Marsh himself, without setting undue store on good 
looks, had enjoyed the satisfaction of being appreci- 
ated. 

In his ruminations the shoe-pegger of Venice had 
recalled this youthful picture, not without a heart pang 
when he contrasted it now with his bent shoulders and 
emaciated frame. But he kept wielding his hammer, 
clap, clap, clap, as his mind roamed along. 


24 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Marsh Gordon, come to town to earn his own liveli- 
hood and carve out a career for himself, took the first 
job that fell to his hand. He was offered a salesman’s 
position in the big shoe store of Keith and Sons, and 
accepted it at a weekly stipend that was small yet 
looked pretty good to the country youth who was well 
contented, for a beginning, to be able to pay board and 
lodging bill. The daily routine of his work brought 
him into acquaintanceship with almost everyone worth 
knowing in Creston, and his bright smile, genial man- 
ners and invariable willingness to oblige speedily turned 
acquaintances into friends. His popularity was in- 
creased by the fact that he possessed, not only a fine 
tenor voice, but the natural gift of singing, so that no 
church musical affair, or evening party of the young 
social set came to be complete without his presence, no 
town concert possible without his name being on the 
program. 

“ Changed days,” murmured the cobbler, as he 
paused in his work to repress a fit of coughing. “ I 
hardly think I could raise a whistle now,” he added 
with a grimly humorous smile, as he reached for a 
waxed end already bristled and proceeded to sew up 
a small rent in the shoe he had just re-soled. 

But after the first stitch or two he paused awhile. 
Yes, it was undoubtedly his singing abilities that had 
won for him the hand of the fair Miriam Rex, the ac- 
knowledged belle of Creston in those days. It was 
not his voice that had attracted her — Marsh had soon 
come to know that Miriam, although highly accom- 
plished in other ways, had not one note of music in her 
soul, that music bored her, that she was incapable even 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


25 

of humming a simple tune correctly. Painting was in 
her line, and for this she possessed undoubted talent. 

However there is a natural attraction between vota- 
ries of art even although they may follow different 
paths, and Marsh, while most sincere in his admiration 
of Miriam’s paintings, was just as incapable of execut- 
ing these as was she of playing his accompaniments at 
the piano. Miriam might not have cared for his sing- 
ing, but she certainly appreciated the applause, popular- 
ity, and social distinction it won for him. She was a 
truly beautiful girl, tall and willowy, with large, languid 
black eyes, a wealth of deep brown tresses, the com- 
plexion of a pink rose, teeth of perfect regularity and 
pearly whiteness, her manner full of repose yet capable 
of vivacity when the mood stirred. 

“ Gee ! what a prize for an humble clerk in a shoe 
store ! ” mused Gordon as he recalled this vision of 
youthful loveliness. “ And even today she is hardly 
changed a bit. While look at me ! ” He coughed 
again, as he ruefully surveyed the wax-blackened palms 
of his long, lean hands. 

Yes, Marsh had won the prize from many rivals, for 
Miriam, besides possessing rare physical and intellec- 
tual charms, was the daughter of a banker reputed 
to be among Creston’s richest citizens. On young 
Gordon’s side were health, tolerably good looks, high 
hopes and a happy disposition, popularity, the future 
rewards that such qualities might bring — but mean- 
while only the meagre salary of a clerk in a store. No 
doubt he was the destined heir of his father’s farm and 
well-stocked acres, but that hardly counted, for Miriam 
made no effort to conceal how thoroughly she despised 


26 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


country life and country people. However, it was a 
real love match ; in those warm, young days of impas- 
sioned love-making there was no thought of counting 
this or that ; and amid the acclamations of the popula- 
tion at large, if with no great approval from Miriam’s 
parents, the young people were duly wedded. 

Oh, the happiness of those early married days! 
Young Gordon had by this time completed five years of 
service at the shoe store. His salary had been grad- 
ually raised by annual increments, but was still a very 
modest one indeed. Yet, by living a careful and 
steady life, he had succeeded in saving between two 
and three hundred dollars, and this sum now became 
available as first payment for the purchase of a pretty, 
rose-embowered cottage, the subsequent payments to 
be made in the form of rent spread over a period of 
years. So the young people had entered proudly into 
the occupancy of “ their own home.” 

Miriam had cheerfully decided to do her housework, 
but from the first she found her husband a willing, or 
rather an insistent helper. Before he set forth in the 
morning for the day’s duties he had always done the 
main share in preparing the breakfast and tidying up 
the little home. In the evening he would never submit 
to Miriam washing the dishes; that was his job, he 
gaily declared, so he annexed it, at first despite her pro- 
tests but eventually as the accepted order of things. 

For in the second year of their married life a baby 
daughter had arrived upon the scene, and after a some- 
what prolonged convalescence the young mother found 
her hands filled with multifarious new duties. In 
Miriam the maternal instinct was strong, and she lav- 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


27 


ished most devoted attentions on her child. And in 
these days there had come to Marsh Gordon just the 
first touch of the loneliness that so grievously op- 
pressed him now. 

Within a year after the birth of Bernice, as the 
child was named, Miriam’s father died. By his 
death a financial bubble was pricked — the sup- 
posedly rich banker left nothing behind him; indeed 
his estate was badly in debt and a crowd of creditors 
was left sincerely to mourn his demise. Without 
consideration of financial consequences, Marsh of- 
fered a home to his mother-in-law. The offer was 
somewhat condescendingly accepted, and the bread- 
winner found himself not only still more alone in 
his own home but also confronted with the urgent 
necessity of increasing his weekly earnings. 

It had been far from Marsh Gordon’s thoughts 
that he should permanently, or indeed for long, re- 
main an humble and poorly paid clerk in a shoe store. 
But man proposes while Fate disposes. He seemed 
to have dropped into a truly deadly routine from 
which circumstances now rendered it impossible to 
extricate himself. In the ardor of youth, and with 
the zealous thought of mastering every department 
of the shoe trade, he had spent many an off hour in 
the cobbler’s stall at the rear of the store, and had 
tried his prentice hand in the art of repairing. Apt 
and determined to learn, after a year or so he found 
himself able to correct up a pair of shoes or put on a 
half sole or straighten the heel just as quickly and 
efficiently as the regular cobbler himself. 

With a view to putting this acquired skill to practical 


28 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

account he now volunteered for work at night in the 
cobbler’s stall, and, with heavy accumulations of re- 
pairs on hand, his employers were only too glad to 
accept this additional service. So, unbeknown to all 
friends except his womenfolk at home, Marsh Gor- 
don became a professional shoe-pegger, bending over 
his bench often until the small hours of the morning 
and thereby putting a few extra dollars each week 
into his pay envelope. 

Yet even with these prolonged hours of toil he had 
never relaxed in his domestic helpfulness, and at 
home his self-assumed tasks were accepted now with 
complete complacency that was no doubt partly due 
to the presence of his mother-in-law in the family 
circle. 

He noticed, too, another subtle change in his wife 
Miriam. At the outset she had gladly accepted .the 
responsibilities of motherhood. But, having suf- 
fered not a little over the birth of her first child, she 
now announced a firm determination that other chil- 
dren should come only when there was adequate as- 
surance of their comfortable maintenance. Marsh 
toiled on, early and late, only dully conscious of the 
growing estrangement of the wife he had so devot- 
edly, and still so devotedly, loved, and for whom he 
had made, and was still ready to make, unbounded 
sacrifices. 

It was only after an interval of ten years that a 
second baby, another girl, somewhat unexpectedly 
put in an appearance. Miriam, although at first bit- 
terly resentful against her husband’s indiscretion and 
improvidence, at last accepted the situation with due 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


29 


resignation. Two years previously her mother had 
died, but the new baby served to commemorate her 
memory, being christened after her, Elizabeth, a name 
that was subsequently dropped for its less austere 
equivalent, Bessie. 

For Marsh at all events the baby was a ray of sun- 
shine in the home. He loved to fondle and caress 
the tiny form. But this pleasure had to be surrep- 
titiously indulged in, for long hours at night, stoop- 
ing over his cobbling work, had caused him to de- 
velop a sort of chronic cold — a hard, racking cough 
that had caused the solicitous mother to drop more or 
less veiled hints about threatened tuberculosis. On 
one occasion, indeed, when snatching the baby from 
his arms, she had reminded him that both his parents 
had shown unmistakable signs of weak lungs, and had 
declared that her children at all events must be safe- 
guarded from infection. 

It had all been a terrible shock to Marsh Gordon. 
But he had borne it uncomplainingly — had accepted 
his cough and his bent shoulders and his loss of flesh 
as the price to be paid for the responsibilities of mat- 
rimony and paternity which he had willingly assumed. 
He was now further than ever from advancement or 
emancipation. He seemed to have become a regu- 
lar fixture in the shoe store, during the day behind 
the counter, through long night hours in the cobbler’s 
stall. All ambitions, all hopes, sacrificed to the dull 
unceasing grind of urgent necessity! The tragedy 
of many other lives besides his own! 

Thus four or five more years had dragged their 
slow length along. Instead of any words of grat- 


30 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


itude on Miriam’s part there were only pointed little 
reminders — cruel reminders — how sorrily Marsh 
had failed to realize the expectations that had been 
formed of him. Remarks were made how the early 
friends of his youth had nearly all succeeded in life — 
one was a prosperous lawyer, another a rich con- 
tractor, a third a widely famous business man away 
in New York, and so on down the line. And the 
bitter suggestion was left that Miriam, had she so 
chosen, could have married any one of them in pref- 
erence to the shoe-clerk and shoe-pegger with whom 
unkind destiny had mated her. 

Those friends and rivals of early days had thrived 
and accumulated wealth, while he, Marsh Gordon, 
had simply drudged and grown old till now he was 
incapable of any new effort. But at this very thought 
the flickering spirit within him rose and asserted it- 
self. “ No, no,” he murmured to himself fervently. 
“ I know it is true that flowers perish, the rose with- 
ers, the perfume fades into imperceptible odor, and 
likewise I am afraid love loses its youthful fire. The 
keenness and zest of things become less compelling. 
But I refuse to believe that the world is less beautiful, 
because if I did I would know in truth that I am 
growing old. I don’t want to grow old. I have so 
many things to do and as yet, seemingly, I have done 
nothing. But I will,” he fairly shouted to himself 
as he brought the hammer down with a final resound- 
ing thump on the sole of the shoe he was repairing. 
His face flushed for an instant and a spark of the 
divine flame seemed to snap from his eyes. 

He paused awhile in his task, then, recovering from 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


3i 


his momentary ebullition of passionate emotion, re- 
sumed the even tenor of his work and of his medita- 
tions. He was doing a little stitching now. It 
needed care, and his mind recovered the thread of 
placid reminiscence. 

Miriam’s hard words had been put out of mind, or, 
if they recurred, as was the case from time to time, 
they were ignored. Marsh was still devoted to his 
wife and to his children — still capable of further 
sacrifices. When Bernice was sixteen years of age, 
and the question of ways and means for completing 
her education in accordance with Miriam’s high 
standards came to be discussed, a proposition had 
been made which, although it had at first startled 
him, came to be accepted by the doting father and 
husband as a right and proper solution of the diffi- 
culty. 

The little home, now fully paid for, was sold at a 
sacrifice, and on the proceeds Miriam departed for 
Massachusetts, where it had been decided that Ber- 
nice should take up a four years’ course at Wellesley 
College, while Bessie should enter a preparatory 
school. Meanwhile Marsh would hold on to his job 
and find quarters in a cheap boarding-house, or, as 
Miriam considerately suggested, it might be better 
for him to go west in quest of a ‘warmer and drier 
climate where there might be the chance of fighting 
the disease to which he had fallen a victim. 

But for the next three years Marsh Gordon had 
remained in Creston, sticking to his job, working as 
assiduously as ever, and remitting east all his super- 
fluous earnings. For Miriam had written that she 


32 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


herself was now taking art lessons, specializing in 
the painting of porcelain. To Marsh it seemed right 
and wise; Miriam had justified the heavy expenditure 
on the ground that in all probability she might have 
to earn the wherewithal to complete little Bessie’s ed- 
ucation and give her, like her elder sister, a fair start 
in life. Miriam was always right — far-sighted and 
right. Marsh had long since schooled himself to 
think submissively with her mind, and to him came 
no disturbing reflections of undue neglect of himself 
or disproportionate solicitude for others. 

Three years of separation had passed; then Marsh 
Gordon’s father, a widower by this time, had died, 
and the son had found himself in possession of the 
family farmhouse and acres. For a day or two 
Marsh hesitated — he had serious thoughts of retir- 
ing to the country and taking up the occupation of 
farming. But there were a number of deterring ar- 
guments — enfeebled and emaciated now, he was 
hardly strong enough for the work; then again, 
Miriam had despised farming, and all through her 
married life had turned the coldest of cold shoulders 
toward his parents and other relatives, uncles and 
cousins, engaged in rustic pursuits; and finally, in 
her recent letters she had been deploring the want of 
a few hundred extra dollars in a lump sum that would 
make all the difference for Bernice in her final year 
at college. 

Marsh Gordon was still apologetic for his seeming 
failure in life — still eager to make all possible 
amends to those near and dear to him. So after 
mature reflection he decided to sell the farm he had 


GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


33 


so timeously inherited. It realized $5,000, just $125 
per acre, although the lawyer friend who put through 
the deal had insisted that the land was worth fully 
$200 per acre. However, the purchaser, already a 
big land-holder in the same neighborhood, was one 
of those close-fisted individuals who know that a good 
time to buy is when the other party requires to sell. 
So the transaction had gone through, and Miriam 
signed the deed that was sent to her, receiving soon 
after the $500 that would relieve her immediate ne- 
cessities. The balance of $4,500 was banked in the 
joint names of husband and wife. 

Marsh Gordon now felt that the last stakes hold- 
ing him to Creston and to Iowa had been pulled up 
and thrown aside. He gave up his position in the 
shoe store, and could hardly blind himself to the fact 
that his resignation had been willingly accepted. 
There is little desire to have consumptives around any 
place of business — such had been his sad reflection. 
So now he moved away to California, hoping almost 
against hope that its much lauded climate might check 
the ravages of the disease to which, in accordance 
with doctors’ dictum, he now acknowledged himself 
to be a victim. 

There was one special possession, all his very own 
he counted it, which he carried away with him. From 
the very date of his marriage Marsh had made a 
secret resolve that he would save and secretly retain 
a sum of ten cents each day. He had cheerfully sur- 
rendered all the rest of his earnings for the common 
good of the home. But he had clung tenaciously to 
this slowly but steadily growing hoard, not from any 


34 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


selfish motive, but at first with the quiet thought that 
it might come in very usefully in some emergency, 
then latterly from mere force of habit and ingrained 
determination never to touch the money unless it 
should become a question of life or death to do so. 
Accordingly, when he had left for California he had 
carried with him in his trunk sundry little money 
bags whose contents aggregated in value over $800 — 
all in silver dimes, for a sort of superstition made 
him hold to the actual coins accumulated. 

He stopped for a few days in Los Angeles, and, 
finding the country to be fairly interlaced with sub- 
urban car lines, was enabled to visit a score of towns 
and little villages scattered around in every direction. 
But what especially attracted him was the ocean. 
Having been born and raised in the interior, this new 
sight of a vast expanse of water proved for him a 
perpetual charm. He would sit for hours on the 
seashore, gazing far out over the blue deep and 
watching the incoming tide. And from among all 
the beach towns he fastened on Venice-by-the-Sea as 
likely to prove the most attractive, it being a centre 
of bright life and gaiety, yet with quiet, pretty homes 
a few blocks back from the fashionable parade on the 
ocean front. For Miriam had promised to join him in 
California after Bernice’s graduation. 

That time had now come; wife and daughters were 
installed in the dainty little bungalow in which the 
family fund was invested; Miriam, Bernice, and Bes- 
sie had found many congenial friends; and here was 
Marsh Gordon once more cobbling shoes as the only 



THE COBBLER'S INSPIRATION 










GLIMPSES FROM THE PAST 


35 


available means, search how he might, of earning a 
maintenance for those dependent on him. 

At this last thought he began humming in a low 
tone the refrain of an old revival hymn wafted back 
on the wings of memory from earliest childhood days : 

On the other side of Jordan , 

In the sweet fields of Eden, 

Where the tree of life is blooming, 

There is rest for me. 

He dropped his hands on the lap of his leather 
apron. He was recalling the lusty joy with which 
the congregation in the old home church had shouted 
out this hymn, making the very roof reverberate 
their perfervid belief in a glorious future emancipa- 
tion from all earthly woes and tribulations. But for 
him the words and tune echoed now, not with joy — 
just with weary, saddened resignation. 

“ Are those shoes ready yet ? ” 

It was the voice of his employer that had broken 
into his reveries. 

“ I think so,” replied the shoe-pegger. For a mo- 
ment he was confused and not quite sure, for he had 
been working almost mechanically while his mind 
had been far away. 

Yes ; the shoes were quite finished, the last peg had 
been driven, the little tear neatly sewn, even the black- 
ing brush used and a bright polish given to the leather. 

“ You haven’t marked the price on them.” 

“ It is a forty cent job, Mr. Brown,” replied the 


36 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


cobbler, with a glance at the clock as he coughed 
apologetically behind his hand. 

“ Give me the chalk, ” said the owner of the store. 
“ Sixty-five cents,” he added decisively, as he chalked 
the figures on one of the soles. “ This is overtime 
work. We can’t keep the store open after hours for 
nothing.” 

Gordon coughed again, but ventured no reply. He 
knew that there was no overtime pay coming his way. 

“ All right, Gordon. Good night. You’ll lock 
the side door as usual.” 

The mended shoes were carried away, and the shoe- 
pegger was alone. He arose from his cobbler’s 
bench, straightened himself painfully, laid away his 
tools, and removed his apron. Then he reached for 
his overcoat hanging against the door. It was a thin 
and threadbare garment, pathetically in keeping with 
his gaunt face and lean frame. He opened the door. 
A swirl of mist blew in, and he coughed a little. The 
swish of the waves on the not far distant beach could 
be heard. 

“ She didn’t allow Bessie to come back,” he mur- 
mured. “ Quite right. The night is cold and 
clammy.” 

Then he turned off the light, locked the door behind 
him, and disappeared into the woolly billow of fog 
that filled the little courtyard. 


CHAPTER III 


THE LONELY BREADWINNER 

B URN HOPKINS, who had recently entered on 
the practice of law in Los Angeles, was the son 
of rich parents in the East and a graduate of Har- 
vard University. He had had a sister at Wellesley 
College of the same year as Bernice Gordon and in 
this way, when attending some class festivity, had 
made the acquaintance of Bernice and her mother. 
Their intention of coming to California had been duly 
intimated to him, and in point of fact, while Marsh 
Gordon was indulging the dream that it was Miriam's 
kindness of heart for himself, her sick husband, that 
had brought about the family reunion in the Far 
West, the real magnet of attraction had been Burn 
Hopkins, whose love and admiration for Bernice were 
unmistakable and whose eligibility as a son-in-law was 
in Miriam’s eyes indubitable. 

On arriving in California Miriam had been some- 
what taken aback by the fact that Marsh had resumed 
his old calling of a shoe-pegger. She herself was 
now a painter on china, of undoubted skill and with 
at least a possible commercial demand for her artistic 
productions. 

Bernice was a beautiful and accomplished young 
woman, a college graduate, bright, clever, and viva- 
cious, and although possessing no marked proclivities 
37 


38 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


along any particular line of endeavor, such as paint- 
ing or music, she was a girl capable of taking a place 
of distinction in the highest society. 

Little Bessie, while also inheriting the physical 
charms of her mother, showed the father’s strain in 
her blood by her love of music. Already at twelve 
years of age she was almost a virtuoso on the piano, 
and she also sang in a sweet, childish voice that not 
only gave promise of rich development but also 
showed the true feeling that betokened the real artis- 
tic soul. Although Marsh Gordon had long since 
ceased from vocal efforts, he too had the soul of music 
in him, and it was this kindred spirit that undoubtedly 
directed the affections of the little girl so strongly 
toward her unfortunate father whose sufferings she 
pitied, whose sublime unselfishness she was beginning 
to glimpse, and against whose isolation her warm, 
young heart was already at times in rebellion. 

Miriam, Bernice, Bessie — three charming types 
of femininity, the mother with her youthful beauty 
so wonderfully preserved that she looked more like 
a sister of the young girls; all accomplished, dressed 
in the best and latest style, accustomed to mingle in 
refined and educated social circles — to mar such a 
trinity by the introduction of a cobbler for husband 
and father, a mere cobbler with the bent shoulders 
and wax-stained hands of his calling, was certainly, 
to say the least, both incongruous and regrettable. 
Marsh Gordon himself, with the humbleness of a 
broken spirit, recognized the point. But neverthe- 
less he had. justified himself by the unanswerable law 
of necessity. 


THE LONELY BREADWINNER 


39 


“ Whatever made you return to cobbling shoes ? ” 
protested Miriam, fine scorn as well as indignation 
vibrating in her voice. “ I thought you came to Cal- 
ifornia to make a complete change.” 

“ A change of climate for my health’s sake, dear,” 
suggested Marsh, coughing apologetically through his 
fingers. 

“ Well, you might have changed your vocation, 
too. You don’t seem to have any longer the spirit 
of a mouse, Marsh. Why didn’t you try for some- 
thing else to do ? ” 

“ I did try — I tried so hard and so long that I had 
to quit trying or else begin to use up the little family 
capital. I was at the end of my slender resources, 
Miriam, before I accepted my present situation. I 
did not write about my taking it, but you have received 
your weekly remittances all the time.” 

“ Oh, yes, the remittances came regularly. But I 
really fancied you had at last gone into some gentle- 
manly occupation — real estate, for example. Just 
look at the scores of real estate offices right here in 
Venice.” 

“ Which precisely accounts for my having recog- 
nized the futility of trying such a game. To have 
rented and furnished an office would have lfieant the 
expenditure of capital with only the remote possibil- 
ity of any returns. I preferred to put our remaining 
$4500 into this new and pretty bungalow, which can 
be readily sold again a few years hence, perhaps at 
an increased price, when it will be time for our little 
Bessie to follow in her sister’s footsteps at Welles- 
ley.” 


40 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ I am not disapproving of what you did in this 
matter,” replied Miriam. “ To have broken into that 
small family capital would have been little short of a 
crime.” 

“ Well, you required money to live in the East, 
dear.” 

“ Of course, of course.” 

“ And although my personal expenses have always 
been small, I too had to eat and have a place in which 
to sleep.” 

“ Naturally.” 

“ So, also naturally, I resumed the one trade in 
which I can gain an opening and earn steady wages. 
That is why I had to disappoint you, Miriam, by re- 
turning to my cobbler’s bench. It was not from in- 
clination, I can assure you. But for all your sakes 
the hard necessity had to be accepted and endured.” 

“ I suppose it was inevitable, Marsh,” replied 
Miriam thoughtfully. “ Yes, inevitable. But of 
course you will recognize that you will have to keep 
yourself discreetly in the background. It would be 
fatal to the dear girls’ chances to have their father 
introduced to friends as a common cobbler — a shoe- 
pegger. You admit that yourself, don’t you?” 

“ Surely, surely,” concurred Marsh, humbly and 
only too glad to end the controversy. “ Nobody 
need know anything about what I do. I have no vis- 
itors at the store — no strangers come to my little 
room there — the shoes to be repaired are always 
brought to me by one of the assistants. So don’t 
worry on my account, Miriam. I am just thankful 
and happy to be near you all again.” 


THE LONELY BREADWINNER 


4i 


And with this he moved away toward the veranda 
at the rear of the house where, at his own request, his 
bed had been placed. 

Miriam kept her seat and reflected. To punctuate 
her thoughts came the occasional coughing of her 
husband, who had now retired for the night. 

Next day she sent for a carpenter, and the con- 
struction of a small detached screened room at the 
extreme end of the backyard was commenced. 
Marsh accepted the new arrangement gratefully. 
Yes, he would be much more comfortable there. He 
could have all his books around him, and a portable 
oil stove for chilly evenings. And he freely and 
fully recognized how right it all was — that his 
cough should cause no one annoyance. He could go 
early in the morning to his work, and return in the 
evening, without disturbing anyone. And yes ; he 
would prefer to have his supper in his pretty summer- 
house. It would be like old days for him to cook his 
own breakfast on the little gas stove Miriam had so 
kindly suggested — anyhow, a cup of coffee and a 
slice or two of toast was all he required. 

Thus it had come about that Marsh Gordon, morn- 
ing and evening, slipped out and in by the side en- 
trance to the yard, that he rarely now entered the 
home proper, and that his perpetual absence came to 
be the recognized order of things for visitors to the 
family circle. 

“ My poor husband is an invalid,’’ was Miriam’s 
formula of reply when an inquiry had made some 
sort of an excuse unavoidable. “ He is also a great 
reader of books, you know, so prefers not to be dis- 


42 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


turbed. Now, Bessie, my dear, bring Mr. Golightly 
another dish of ice-cream.” 

So the evening’s entertainment would proceed, and 
the nominal head of the house be once again con- 
veniently consigned to oblivion. 

On the night when little Bessie had been disap- 
pointed of her walk home with her daddy, who had 
been detained by work at the store, Burn Hopkins had 
arrived from Los Angeles to take dinner with Miriam 
and her daughters. As Marsh Gordon passed along 
the side alley with furtive footfall he could hear the 
clatter of dishes in the kitchen made by the Japanese 
boy hired for the occasion, and the murmur of happy 
voices from the dining-room beyond. 

In his little screened room Gordon found*- a tray 
neatly set — a leg of chicken with a slice of ham, a 
couple of rolls, a pat of butter, a saucer of stewed 
fruit, a tumbler of milk — all cold. But he was ac- 
customed now to cold collations, and professed to 
like them better than a hot meal. So he sat down 
gratefully at his lonely table, propped a book before 
him, and read as he ate. After about half-an-hour 
he threw open the door. He had heard the piano 
starting up; it was Bessie who was playing, and he 
loved to listen even from afar to her finely executed 
pieces, also to her singing at intervals during such a 
guest evening as the present one. 

So long as the music continued Marsh forgot his 
book. When it ended he resumed his reading. He 
had already cleared away his tray, and set it on a 
little side table. It was close upon ten o’clock when 
Bessie stole into the room. 


THE LONELY BREADWINNER 


43 


“ Dear daddy, I just wanted to say goodnight. 
What a shame you have been here all alone, and we 
so happy. And that chicken couldn’t have been nice, 
all grown cold! But do you know, daddy,” she went 
on vivaciously now and confidentially, “ I’m sure 
Burn Hopkins is going to propose to Bernice tonight? 
Mother sent me off to bed, and she herself has gone 
to the dining-room to put back the silver in its case. 
So they’re all alone in the front room, and Bernice is 
sitting with her eyes cast down, just like this.” De- 
murely the little maid suited the action to her words, 
then broke again into merry rippling laughter. “ So 
we shall soon be having a wedding in the family, 
daddy, and I’ll be all alone with mama and you.” 

She would have kissed him, but he just patted her 
head affectionately. 

“ Well, off to bed, little dear. The night air is 
cold. And you played and sang very nicely this even- 
ing. That was specially fine, the Valkyrie music. 
Good night, by bonnie Bessie ! ” 

She was gone, and Marsh Gordon was once more 
alone with his thoughts. “ So Bernice is going to 
get married? And I haven’t even been privileged to 
see the young man yet. But it’s all right. And no 
doubt this Burn Hopkins is a fine young fellow. 
Dear, dear! how the years have flown! It seems 
only yesterday that Bernice was a tiny baby.” 

And as he dropped his chin on his breast and mused 
he saw once again the joyous, happy, little home of 
first married days — Miriam a tenderly loving wife, 
himself a stalwart young man with fearless courage 
in his eye and high hope pulsing through his veins. 


44 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

“ After all,” he murmured, “ memory is an inher- 
itance of riches, for by it we still possess many things 
that we might believe we had lost.” 

For between that time and this what a vista of toil, 
anxiety, and disappointment! 


CHAPTER IV 


TIGER-LILIES AND COWSLIPS 

A FEW days went past during which Marsh 
Gordon became painfully and increasingly con- 
scious that he was a mighty sick man. It was a 
period of misty mornings and nights, and the chill 
moisture-laden atmosphere percolating through the 
wire-mesh screens of his sleeping room not only ag- 
gravated his cough but set up a feverish cold as well. 
For fever there is only one remedy — rest. But the 
shoe-pegger toiled on. In the confined space of his 
little stall at the rear of the store he lost the glorious 
hours of sunshine that might have had a recuperat- 
ing effect on his run-down condition. 

No one knew better than Marsh that if a man hold- 
ing his position comes to require a vacation he simply 
loses his job. Shoes for repair arrived in a steady 
flow of almost uniform regularity; the accumulation 
of two or three days of arrears meant complaints 
from the customers and arduous hours of overtime 
for the cobbler; a week of suspended activity would 
have so disarranged this department of the shoe 
store’s business that substituted help would have been 
inevitable. Therefore the broken-down and en- 
feebled man clung to his task with desperate tenacity. 

But at last there came a morning when Marsh Gor- 
don found himself too weak to get out of bed at his 
45 


46 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


accustomed early hour and prepare his own simple 
breakfast as he was accustomed to do. It chanced 
to be Saturday and therefore a day on which little 
Bessie did not go to school. About nine o’clock, 
when she chanced to come into the yard, she was 
much surprised to hear the sound of her father’s 
cough. In great anxiety and alarm she hastened to 
his room. 

“ Daddy ! ” she exclaimed, as she opened the door 
and stepped inside. In the one word were concen- 
trated astonishment, dismay, and deep affection. 

“ Oh, don’t worry about me, Bessie dear,” replied 
her father. “ But I have just resolved to take a day’s 
rest, so have prepared a little note which I want you to 
deliver at the shoe store without delay. When you 
get back say to your mother that I’ll be glad if she 
will allow you to come with me for an afternoon’s 
outing. I see the mist has cleared off, and it is going 
to be a fine warm day. The open air will do me all 
the good in the world, and if you’ll be my compan- 
ion, Bessie, we’ll take a street car and then go up into 
one of the little canyons among the Santa Monica 
hills. I’ll show you one of the prettiest spots you 
ever set eyes on, where I went once or twice before I 
returned to daily work. We’ll take a lunch along 
with us, and we’ll gather wild-flowers and watch the 
crested quail among the bushes and hear the robins 
sing.” 

Bessie’s face was already lighted up with a great 
joy, and in anticipation of the day’s delight she 
clapped her hands. 

“ Give me the letter, papa. I’ll be back in ten min- 


TIGER-LILIES AND COWSLIPS 


47 


utes. I’ll run all the way.” And without another 
word she was gone. 

Gordon, revived somewhat by the very sunshine of 
her presence, got up and dressed. He was ready for 
her before she returned. With her came her mother. 

“ What’s the matter now ? ” asked Miriam, stand- 
ing at the doorway. “ Bessie tells me you have not 
been feeling well enough to go to work this morning.” 

“ That is so, my dear,” faltered Marsh, apologeti- 
cally. “ My cough was very troublesome during the 
night” 

“ So I heard,” remarked Miriam. “ Really, 
Marsh, I’m beginning to be afraid lest some of the 
neighbors complain.” 

“ Well, a day in the country will do me a heap of 
good. And I suppose Bessie has told you that T 11 
be glad of her companionship. Oh, I'll take good 
care of the child ; you needn’t be frightened, Miriam, 
on her account.” 

But Miriam did not need to be persuaded to give 
her assent. 

“ Well, it happens to suit our plans all right,” she 
said complacently. “ Burn is coming down with his 
motor — Mr. Hopkins, you know ; you have doubt- 
less heard his name — to take Bernice and me to a 
matinee in Los Angeles. So you’ll take Bessie off 
my hands, and I’ve no doubt I’ll be able to get to- 
gether a lunch for you. I suppose you will want to 
start early — you won’t require dinner at home.” 

“ No, no; no dinner needed. We’ll get away just 
as soon as the lunch-basket is ready. Eh, Bessie, my 
dear? ” 


48 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ I’ll help mama with the sandwiches/' exclaimed 
the child, joyfully eager to expedite their departure. 
“ But haven’t you had your breakfast yet ? ” she 
added, casting a glance around the room. 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” replied her father. “ I feel 
fine now and will soon make myself a cup of coffee.” 

“ We’ll bring something out for you,” said Miriam, 
condescendingly. “ Come along then, Bessie.” 

Mother and daughter departed. The father was 
too happy at the thought of a day among the hills 
with his little darling to feel snubbed or slighted. 
He took the tray from Bessie’s hands, sent her back 
to assist her mother, and ate in solitude but none the 
less gratefully. The warm coffee proved a stimu- 
lant; he began to feel himself again. 

They took the street car and rode through Venice, 
Ocean Park, and Santa Monica to the northern limits 
of the last named town. Then on foot they wended 
their way toward the foothills, Bessie insisting on 
carrying the lunch basket swung on one arm while with 
the other she linked herself to her father’s elbow. They 
advanced along a pretty winding road, gradually as- 
cending and several times spanning with rustic 
bridges the pebbly dried-up bed of a creek. Soon the 
last habitation was left behind, and they were in a 
narrow gorge thickly grown with underbrush and 
traversed by a mere trail that followed the course of 
the water channel. 

After an hour’s climb the cleft in the hills widened, 
and there were occasional spaces where splendid syc- 
amores had room to extend their twisted boughs or 
an occasional live-oak stood in solitary grandeur. 


TIGER-LILIES AND COWSLIPS 


49 


And now there was a tiny stream in the creek, and 
the murmurous ripple of tumbling waters, the pro- 
duct of the melting snows on the Sierra high above 
beginning to feel the first warm kiss of springtide. 

Bessie was filled with animation and delight as she 
viewed each new beauty, jumped from stone to stone 
across the brook, or stooped to dip her hands in its 
ice-cold current. They sat down in a little sun- 
warmed glade and ate their luncheon — a really 
dainty meal, for as Bessie announced with grave im- 
portance she herself had devilled the eggs and pre- 
pared the chicken salad — under her mother’s direc- 
tions, of course, she added with conscientious respect 
for veracity. There was a thermos bottle with hot 
tea, and ripe luscious oranges by way of dessert. 
Marsh Gordon imagined himself in a mountain Del- 
monico’s. He had not partaken of a meal so heartily 
or with such zest of appetite for many a long year. 
And with a song of quiet joy in his heart he watched 
his little daughter as she tried to entice a flock of 
quail with scattered crumbs. But the timid birds 
scurried away into the dense brushwood, or nodded 
their plumes from a discreet distance. 

Then Bessie sang to him, throwing her whole soul 
into songs which she had come to know he loved to 
hear her sing — “ In the Gloaming ” and “ Silver 
Threads Among the Gold,” old-time favorites which 
he had dug out of a frayed but carefully preserved 
volume that he had been accustomed to use in the 
days of long ago, when he himself was a popular fav- 
orite in drawing rooms and on concert platforms. 
These ancient songs awakened in him a flood of ten- 


50 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


der memories, and also a spirit of great thankfulness 
that, while Bessie had inherited the physical charms 
of her mother, from him she derived her love of 
music. 

The bowed and feeble cobbler felt the glow of di- 
vine satisfaction that it is after all the qualities of 
mind that count for most in human heredity, and 
that in the bright little girl carolling joyfully to him 
and to the hills, to the trees and to the listening quail, 
something of the best in himself had been reincar- 
nated — that his own soul, when he at last had become 
cold clay, would still go singing along. The immor- 
tality of biology ! — he began to understand the po- 
tency of the phrase. 

To both father and daughter the afternoon was one 
of supreme delight, crowned by his discovering in a 
marshy spot a bed of golden cowslips, also in a little 
gulch above, a cluster of nodding tiger-lilies. With 
trembling hands he gathered a bunch of the big orange 
colored flowers spotted with velvety black. For 
these very tiger-lilies, also the cowslips which Bessie 
was delightedly making into another bouquet, were 
closely associated with the days when he had courted 
the child’s mother. 

They carried Marsh Gordon’s mind back to one 
particular Sunday afternoon when Miriam and he 
had driven from Creston to Afton, had left their 
buggy to wander along the bonnie banks of Twelve- 
Mile Creek, and had plucked cowslips and tiger-lilies 
on their meandering way until their arms were laden 
with the flowery spoil. And it was in the gloaming 
of that memorable evening, to the murmur of the 


TIGER-LILIES AND COWSLIPS 


5i 


flowing stream, that Marsh had declared his love for 
Miriam and won her blushing consent to be his bride. 
God, how his heart had swelled with joy and grati- 
tude and thankfulness! \ 

Almost five and twenty years ago! And retro- 
spect could be contrasted with prospect. But not all 
had been disappointment, mused Marsh, as his tear- 
bedimmed eyes rested on the sunshiny face of his 
little maid. 

“ Daddy, ain’t they just beautiful? Tiger-lilies 
and cowslips ! I’ll decorate the parlor, and your 
room too, papa dear.” 

When they got home, tired but happy, they found 
Burn Hopkins’ automobile standing outside. 

“ I suppose he’ll be staying for supper,” exclaimed 
Bessie, half regretfully, “ and they’ll be wanting me 
to sing. But I love to sing to you best of all, daddy. 
You know that, don’t you, dear? ” 

She had taken one of his hands in both her own 
as they stood in the side alley. 

“ Oh, but I am always listening when you sing, my 
pretty. Good night! God bless you! You have 
been a dear little chum for me today.” 

“ And it has been the happiest day in my life, 
daddy,” exclaimed the child fervently as she pressed 
her lips against his hand. 


CHAPTER V 


DOWN AND OUT 

W HEN Marsh Gordon returned to his work on 
the Monday, it could not be said that he felt 
like a giant refreshed, for he was still a weakling and 
an invalid. But he was feeling fully fifty per cent 
better than on the previous Friday when he had suf- 
fered the break-down, and there was a brave, hope- 
ful smile hovering at the corners of his thin lips. 
Such had been the achievement accomplished by a 
single day free from care out in God’s own sunshine 
and fresh air, and in the inspiring companionship of 
the happy little child whom he so fondly loved. 

The proprietor of the shoe store, hearing the fa- 
miliar hammer again at work, looked in. 

“ I’m glad to see you back,” he remarked somewhat 
sourly. “ We can’t afford to let repairs accumulate 
these days when summer visitors are beginning to 
flock in.” 

“ Oh, I’ll soon make up for lost time, Mr. Brown,” 
replied Gordon cheerfully and with a complacent 
glance at the heaped-up “ hospital ” box. “ The two 
days’ spell has been to me like the proverbial stitch in 
time that saves nine. I feel capable of doing double 
work this morning.” 

“ Well, let us hope you’ll do it. But no more days- 
off in the future, please.” 


52 


DOWN AND OUT 


53 


However, Marsh did not worry over the significant 
hint, and kept plugging away at his accumulated tasks 
all day long. 

And so it went on for a couple of weeks — con- 
tinuous toil, occasional overtime in the evenings, no 
relaxation of any kind. For Sunday had to be made, 
in the very literal application of the word, a day of 
rest; after each continuous period of six days’ work 
the invalid was too utterly exhausted to do anything 
else than lie on his back and so prepare himself for 
the efforts of the coming week. He still enjoyed his 
evening walks with Bessie along the sanded shore line 
when the child came to the store to keep him company 
home. But he did not dare to think of any more 
Saturday afternoon rambles among the hills. 

A little surcease from the continuous grind might 
have averted the penalty that had finally to be paid. 
Toward the end of the third week Gordon, after a 
prolonged and violent paroxysm of coughing, suffered 
a hemorrhage that necessitated the hiring of a taxi- 
cab to send him to his place of dwelling. He insisted 
on dismissing the machine at the end of the street, 
and slipped quietly and unobtrusively to his room in 
the rear of the house. He coughed no more that 
afternoon — just lay exhausted — so that no one 
came to know that he had quitted work two or three 
hours before his accustomed time. 

“ That’s about the final knock-out for the old man,” 
had been the remark of Mr. Brown, the employer, as 
he had watched the disappearing car. “ Well, it 
saves me the unpleasantness of dismissing him. And 
his graveyard cough had grown to be positively un- 


54 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


bearable. You could hear him barking half over the 
store, and customers were already beginning to ask 
questions and make remarks. Poor devil ! I’m 
sorry for him.” 

His sorrow materialized in his going to Los Ange- 
les and hiring a husky, young Slovak. “ The job 
will be a permanent one,” he promised, when the rate 
of wages was being fixed. 

Meanwhile, Marsh Gordon had sent Bessie to the 
store with a note expressing the hope that he would 
be back to work in a day or two. But the day or 
two prolonged themselves into a couple of weeks, and 
there was still no prospect of the shoe-pegger leaving 
his bed. 

Miriam was disconcerted and took little pains to 
conceal the fact that, at this juncture more especially, 
she resented having a chronic invalid on her hands. 
Burn Hopkins was a frequent visitor at the home, 
running down to the beach of an afternoon and tak- 
ing Bernice and her mother for a spin along the ocean 
boulevard. This quite often meant an evening stay, 
with all its responsibilities of supper and a few 
friends’ company to make up a game of bridge or an 
impromptu concert. 

But Miriam met the necessities of the case with 
her usual resourcefulness. She hired a “ school 
Jap” — a youthful son of Nippon who attended 
school during the day but was willing to do a few 
hours’ work morning and evening for a small wage. 
This boy tidied up the invalid’s room, and brought 
him his meals on a tray from the house. For Miriam 
had resolutely insisted that Bessie was not to hang 


DOWN AND OUT 


55 


around the sick room — the risk of contagion for a 
child of her age was palpable. Marsh admitted the 
fact and, although it wrung his heart to do so, joined 
with his wife in forbidding Bessie to do more than 
pass a good night or good morning greeting from the 
safe distance of the screened door. Bernice did 
hardly that ; she was so engrossed with her love affair, 
and she had so thoroughly absorbed her mother’s 
lessons of selfish indifference, that there were no pangs 
of conscience to trouble her care-free existence. 

So Marsh Gordon came to be more utterly alone 
than ever. At the store there had been an occasional 
chat with his employer, coming and going, a nod or a 
word from passing acquaintances, most evenings the 
delightful little walk with Bessie. All these last ves- 
tiges of sociability had now ruthlessly been swept 
away, and there was nothing to take their place. 
For Marsh absolutely refused to call in a doctor; at 
his age, he declared, any sensible man was his own 
best doctor. And Kioto, the Japanese boy, although 
polite and affable, was too well instructed in latter- 
day hygiene to linger a single minute longer than his 
duties compelled, in the apartment of a victim of tu- 
bercular trouble. 

For the first few days Marsh grew weaker. But 
the weather now became warm and genial, and there 
were no longer night mists arising from the marshes 
or blowing in from the ocean. Resting on a long 
rattan chair he responded to the influence of the ca- 
ressing sunshine, and the dry balmy air was soothing 
to his poor lungs. He began to cough less frequently 
and less violently. By the end of the third week he 


56 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


was up and about again, strengthened rather than 
weakened by his period of enforced repose. 

At last one morning he decided on reporting him- 
self at the store. There was some little anxiety in 
his heart, some misgiving that he would not find 
merely a temporary substitute. He was quite pre- 
pared for the rhythmical clap, clap, clap of the shoe- 
pegger’s hammer as he flitted up the courtyard toward 
the side door. On opening it he found the cobbler’s 
bench occupied by the sturdy, broad-shouldered and 
red-cheeked Slovak, and a glance revealed the fact that 
his books, reading stand, and other smaller personal be- 
longings were all together on a shelf, tied up in a 
couple of packages for convenient removal. 

“ How do you do ? ” said Gordon, in the stereotyped 
phrase of a first introduction. 

“ Preety goot,” replied the other, with a broad smile 
and a pronouncedly foreign accent. And with this he 
continued his work industriously and with skill that 
was unmistakable to the practiced eyes of his predeces- 
sor on the cobbling bench. 

“ Been long here ? ” 

“ ’Bout tree week.” 

Gordon made a swift reckoning of dates. The one 
man had held down the job all through the period of 
his absence. This certainly looked like fixed posses- 
sion. 

From the other side there was no overture of conver- 
sation, so Gordon ventured to open the door and peep 
into the store. At a counter just a little distance away 
stood Mr. Brown, talking to one of the clerks. His 
alert eyes had turned to the opened door, and with the 


DOWN AND OUT 


57 


wave of a hand he signaled that he would speak to Gor- 
don presently. The old shoe-pegger drew back, closed 
the door, and waited. The other man continued his 
hammering. 

“ Glad to see you around again,” said the owner of 
the store when a few moments later he entered and 
closed the door behind him. “ And glad, too, to see 
you looking so much better, Gordon,” he went on with 
a smooth flow of words, giving no opportunity for 
any questioning interruption. “ Of course you’ll rec- 
ognize that I couldn’t keep your place open. Good 
hands are difficult to find at this time of the year, and 
our friend Markovitch here insisted on a six months’ 
contract. But I’ll be glad to recommend you for an- 
other job, though I would suggest some lighter outdoor 
employment in your case, Gordon.” 

“Do you happen to know of any opening?” the 
ex-employee ventured to interpolate. 

“ Not for the moment. But just refer anyone to 
me, and I’ll speak the good word for you. Sorry I 
must go now. Here is the small balance due to you.” 
He handed him the familiar pay envelope. “ That 
closes the account between us. And what about those 
things of yours on the shelf? ” 

Gordon glanced at the packages. They were a bit 
too heavy for him to carry — nor did he want to 
parade himself on the street thus significantly encum- 
bered. 

“ I’ll send a Jap boy down for them tonight,” he said 
quietly. “ Thank you, Mr. Brown, and goodby.” 
And he slipped away just as unobtrusively as he had 
come. 


58 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Well, that’s over,” murmured the employer with 
a sigh of obvious relief. The Slovak had raised his 
eyes, and had momentarily desisted from his pegging. 
“ Poor, old devil,” the master went on, addressing his 
comment now to the new hand. “ He was a rattling 
good workman. Too bad his health broke down. 
But we can’t have derelicts in modern business. 
You’ve got a good job, Markovitch. See you hold it. 
It depends on yourself how soon I’ll raise your wages.” 

“ Very goot,” grinned the Slovak, good-humoredly. 
“ I’ll hold the job all righta, you bet.” And with this 
he resumed his hammering with sturdy vigor that 
added assurance to his words. 

During long weeks after arriving from Iowa, Marsh 
Gordon had most thoroughly combed Los Angeles, 
Venice-by-the-Sea and many surrounding towns in 
search of employment. Only as a last resource had he 
returned to his trade of a shoe-pegger. He had real- 
ized what it would inevitably mean in the end, with 
the long hours of stooping and confinement. But he 
had taken the hazard for the sake of those he loved. 
The sacrifice, however, was unavailing, for now even 
his particular niche was occupied by one far stronger 
and more capable of endurance than himself. 

While he moved along the street he realized the 
hopelessness of any other opportunity coming his way. 
As his late employer had said, a less onerous job in the 
open air was most assuredly desirable in his case. 
“ Plenty oJ open air,” he grimly reflected, as the ocean 
breeze fanned his fevered brow; but precious few jobs 
for anyone and least of all for the down-and-outer, like 
himself. 


DOWN AND OUT 


59 


Yes, he was beginning to feel down-and-out, fit only 
for the scrap-heap of worn-out humanity. He had no 
heart for the moment to put forth any further effort. 
He just seated himself on the sea sand, and gazed out 
across the billowing ocean. He would bribe Kioto to 
keep possession of his packages for an hour or two that 
evening, and only bring them to his room under cover 
of darkness. For Miriam must not know that his 
place at the shoe store had been permanently filled — 
that at last he was without occupation and perhaps his 
earning capacity at an end. 

But ere very long there came a whisper of returning 
hope and courage. The genial sunshine had begun to 
penetrate to the marrow of his bones; his lungs 
breathed in gratefully the soft, balmy air, even the con- 
tinuous murmur of the waves was soothing to his over- 
strung nerves. It was physical comfort reacting on 
his mental condition. He continued to bask in the sun, 
with a sense of lazy contentment stealing over him. 
How fine to have nothing to do! But tomorrow he 
would bestir himself, secure another job, and be able 
to explain to Miriam that it was only a case of chang- 
ing situations. He did not blame himself for the mis- 
fortune that had befallen, but he shrank from the 
blame of others. 

Yes, he was still hopeful, and hope is a hostage that 
heals the scars and aches of the heart and covers over 
the ashes of disappointment with an optimistic belief 
that whatever is to be will be, and that whatever is, is 
best. 


CHAPTER VI 


BERNICE BECOMES ENGAGED 

T HE young attorney, Burn Hopkins, had hung out 
his shingle in one of the finest office buildings in 
Los Angeles. But in that city of overcrowded profes- 
sions he had speedily realized that patient waiting for 
business was a necessary part of the game. This was 
so far fortunate in that it left him ample leisure for a 
more pleasing suit than one involving attendance at the 
law courts. He was becoming more and more con- 
stant in his devotions to Bernice Gordon; he already 
occupied the position of an accepted lover, and it was 
now only a question of naming the happy day. 

Miriam was doing everything in her power to expe- 
dite the wedding. She had made up her mind that 
Burn was not to meet her husband. In regard to the 
latter she had not exactly spoken anything actually un- 
true, but she had given utterance to half-truths, and 
this form of equivocation soon grows irksome. She 
had to be constantly on her guard during conversation 
and on the alert to prevent the possibility of any chance 
meeting. 

However, Bum had long since ceased to probe for 
information. He had evidently accepted the situation, 
regarded Bernice’s father as a recluse and a chronic 
invalid, and was so head-over-ears in love with the 
60 


BERNICE BECOMES ENGAGED 


61 


young lady herself that the matter gave him no further 
concern. But Marsh Gordon’s long spell of illness 
was adding to Miriam’s anxieties, not on the invalid’s 
account but lest Burn’s frequent visits should through 
some mischance result in the men being thrown to- 
gether. To guard against this Miriam encouraged 
automobile outings, theatre matinees, and other meth- 
ods of passing the time away from the home. But al- 
though this is an age of freedom for young people, she 
was old-fashioned enough always quietly to insist on 
playing the part of chaperon. 

It was a lonely afternoon in early July when Burn 
drove up in his automobile to the little bungalow, and 
gave the accustomed “ honk-honk ” signal that he was 
waiting for the ladies to emerge. A program had been 
arranged that they should motor through the superbly 
beautiful Topanga Canyon and afterwards dine at the 
sign of the good ship Cabrillo, the famous hostelry on 
the pier. Bessie was at school, but they were to return 
for her in the evening in time for dinner. 

In answer to the signal Bernice came forth with a 
very rueful countenance. Her mother had a bad head- 
ache, and the outing would have to be postponed. But 
Burn was not to be thus denied. 

“ Well, we’ll take the drive alone, Bernice,” he gaily 
declared. 

“ I don’t know whether mama will consent.” 

“ Oh, I’ll see about that,” replied Burn. “ I caught 
a glimpse of your mother there at the window.” And 
with the fine audacity of youth he tripped up the ver- 
anda steps. 

Miriam had barely time to assume the proper head- 


62 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


achy look before the citadel was being stormed. Burn 
was sorry she felt out of sorts, although his voice and 
look somewhat belied the proffered sympathy. But it 
was far too fine a day for Bernice to miss the drive 
through the mountains. He would take all care of 
her, and they would be back by six o’clock for the even- 
ing appointment. Such frank, eager impetuosity was 
not to be denied, and soon the young lovers departed, 
happy in each other’s exclusive companionship — just 
as the far-seeing mother had deliberately planned. 
She smiled complacently as she mixed the colors on her 
tiny palette and, the headache pose abandoned, gave 
herself up to a quiet afternoon of china painting. 

Topanga Canyon is unquestionably the crowning 
beauty of Southern California’s many beauties. God 
made the mountains but man made the wonderful road 
that winds its way up to their heights, threading the 
gorge that cleaves the mighty barrier of the Sierra 
Madre, crossing its cascading stream now by a rustic 
bridge, anon over a shallow riffle, rounding the spurs 
and climbing the precipices, presenting everywhere to 
the view scenes of sublime grandeur and transcendent 
loveliness. 

Burn drove his big car with sure eye and steady 
hand. It was not a record for speed but a record for 
lingering that he was trying to make. At times he 
halted so that they might enjoy to the full the glorious 
panorama unfolded beneath their feet. Then came an 
inviting open space canopied by shade trees and car- 
peted with flowers. A great wide spreading syca- 
more provided a natural garage where the engine 
might cool off. So they descended, and wandered 


BERNICE BECOMES ENGAGED 


63 


away among the bushes. When half an hour later 
they emerged there was a shy blush on Bernice’s 
cheeks, and on Burn’s countenance the radiant glow of 
triumph. 

“ So that’s settled, darling,” he murmured, as he 
tucked the lap robe over her knees. “ The twenty- 
first ! ” And after a little precautionary glance around 
he boldly kissed her and hugged her in a manner which 
suggested that the performance was in the nature of 
an encore. Only then did he set the starter a-buzzing, 
back his car, and begin the downward journey home. 

At dinner that evening, in the Cabrillo’s spacious 
hold that served as a banquet hall and cabaret, Burn 
Hopkins insisted on opening a bottle of champagne. 
And when the three glasses were tinkled — little Bessie 
was not a participant in the wine-drinking ceremony — 
the toast that the happy young lover proposed was a 
very short one. “ The twenty-first ! ” he exclaimed, 
as he nodded gaily to Miriam. 

The mother’s heart instantly understood. 

“ All happiness ! ” she replied, her eyes flashing with 
quiet satisfaction. 

Bessie also understood. 

“ My, but you’ve been a long time in fixing up 
things,” she remarked with childlike frankness, “ I 
heard Bernice say that — ” 

But a swift look from the young lady in question 
put an abrupt stop to the flow of confidences, freezing 
Bessie to the temperature of the ice-cream to which 
the little maid had discreetly switched her attention. 

“ I am so glad, my dear Burn,” Miriam was now say- 
ing, “ that everything is arranged. Of course it comes 


64 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


as a great surprise to me, this early date. Only two 
weeks for final preparations. However, you know 
your plans best.” 

“ August is the proper month for my vacation, ’^in- 
terposed the accepted suitor. “ You see I must be 
back in early September for that big case, Davies ver- 
sus the Sierra Lumber Company. There are three 
attorneys on our side, and they couldn’t possibly get 
along without me,” he went on, laughing gaily. “ Oh, 
you may smile, Mrs. Gordon, but I’ve been studying 
lumber to beat the band, and know all about redwood 
and pine, shingles, running feet, short lengths, and 
other technical things. Then August is the very best 
season for the Yellowstone Park, and it is there Ber- 
nice and I are going to spend the honeymoon.” 

“ Hope you won’t get into hot water,” ventured 
Bessie, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. This time, 
to her great relief, her remark was not resented; even 
Bernice laughed merrily with the others, so that har- 
mony and gaiety were restored. 

“ Oh, we are not going to tumble into any geyser, 
little sis,” responded Burn, playfully pinching her ear. 
“ Too bad you can’t be coming along also. You 
would just love to see the young bears romping 
around.” 

“ Bears can teach folks how to hug. But Bernice 
and you don’t require any lessons, do you ? ” 

The crisp audacity of this remark tickled Burn im- 
mensely, and Bernice, although she reddened slightly, 
could not but join in his laughter. Attention, how- 
ever, was opportunely diverted by a burst of Hawaiian 
music from a group of costumed instrumentalists on 


BERNICE BECOMES ENGAGED 


65 


the stage. Thus the evening passed gaily, till the 
growing hilariousness of some groups in the mixed 
company suggested to Miriam that it was time for her 
to shepherd her flock in the direction of home. 

It was too late for Burn to step indoors. As they 
stood on the side-walk Miriam could hear her hus- 
band’s racking cough from the distance. But to her 
relief the young lovers were too intent on saying good- 
night to pay any heed. Miriam, however, gave no 
chance for undue lingering, and was thankful when the 
red light at the rear of the automobile was speeding 
into the distance. 

“ Go inside, girls,” she said. “ I’m going round for 
a minute to see how your father is.” 

Miriam found Marsh still up and reading. 

“ Your cough seems to be worse tonight,” she re- 
marked, standing as usual in the doorway. “ Why 
don’t you go out for a few weeks onto the desert? 
The dry air would do you good. The beach is not 
the place for you, I’m certain.” 

“ Probably not,” he replied submissively. “ I’ll 
think about it. The desert certainly sounds attrac- 
tive.” 

For a moment she wondered if the remark had a 
touch of satire in it, but she contented herself with a 
cold “ Good-night,” departing without mention of Ber- 
nice’s approaching nuptials. 

And in the parlor where she rejoined her daughters 
Miriam imposed a strict injunction on both of them 
that, for the sake of their father’s health, not one word 
about the wedding was to be spoken to him meanwhile. 

“ He is in a highly nervous state,” she explained. 


66 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

“ Now, remember, Bessie, if you open your lips you 
will incur my severe displeasure. Promise me not to 
do so.” 

The little girl promised, half reluctantly, half sor- 
rowfully. Why should her poor sick father be de- 
barred from all the happy things in the home ? 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CALLING WILDERNESS 

T HE desert! To Marsh Gordon the word that 
had fallen from his wife’s lips had had, in literal 
truth, an attractive sound. There had been no double 
entendre in his reply. When she was gone he sat back 
in his chair and gave full rein to his imagination. 

The desert! Wide, illimitable, a place of peace- 
ful solitude. Like a sick or wounded creature of the 
wild he was beginning to long for some lonely retreat 
where he could die — alone. He had no actual expe- 
rience of the desert, but he had glimpsed it from the 
railroad train, and had been smitten with its mystic 
lure — a lure that appeals, perhaps, only to the man 
with poetry in his soul. The rosy pink of dawn, the 
drowsy haze of noontide, the glorious violet and helio- 
trope on the encompassing mountains at the sunset 
hour — he had seen them all, and the changing moods 
of the mighty wilderness had left a profound impres- 
sion on his mind. He had been even able to find 
beauty in the pallid sage brush that dotted the land- 
scape, in the occasional patches of deep green mesquite, 
in the tall yuccas that here and there raised their ant- 
lered heads against the horizon. And over all a brood- 
ing silence that was sublime. The desert, grand and 
glorious to those who have eyes to see and hearts to 
understand ! 


67 


68 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


As Marsh Gordon pondered that night, the attraction 
grew to fascination, and when he had laid himself 
down to sleep there came to him dreams of a couch 
on the desert sands with the star-bespangled firmament 
for canopy. In these dreaming hours the first seeds of 
a great change in his life were sown. 

But during the days that followed he was feverish 
again and weak — a sick man undergoing the vicissi- 
tudes of the malady that had him in its deadly grip. 
He was without ambition, without hope, without the 
nerve to devise ways and means for any change. And 
during these days he was more than ever alone, sel- 
dom seeing anyone but the Japanese boy who attended 
to his simple wants, and little Bessie when she came to 
give him morning or evening greeting. To the child 
he invariably returned a few words of good cheer — 
all was well, he was getting along fine, he would be out 
and about again in a very few days. 

The little girl’s visits were brief — Miriam saw to 
that, for everyone was busy in the home completing 
the trousseau of the bride and otherwise preparing for 
the wedding, so that a call for Bessie was quite in 
order when her absence became unduly prolonged. Of 
Bernice he saw nothing — she was away with her 
fiance many days and most evenings, entirely with her 
mother’s approval, for Miriam did not want to have 
Burn about the house — within possible earshot of the 
invalid’s compromising cough that might have pro- 
voked questions and precipitated complications. 
Miriam occasionally looked in upon the sick man, 
mainly to reiterate her advice, it would almost seem, 
that in his prompt departure to some dry, warm retreat 


THE CALLING WILDERNESS 


69 


on the desert now lay his only hope of salvation. She 
even left him some folders descriptive of camps and 
sanitariums where almost hopeless tubercular cases had 
been miraculously cured. 

These folders Marsh Gordon read with care and 
deepening interest. With rest, and the restfulness of 
mind engendered by his final and firm determination 
that, come what might, he would never again resume 
the servitude of ten-hours-a-day manual labor, came a 
reviving flutter of hope. Once again he climbed out 
of the depths of utter despair. Yes, out on the desert 
he might even yet regain his health. In one of the 
printed medical recommendations that helped to make 
up the folders there was an injunction that freedom 
from care was one of the greatest aids to permanent 
cure. 

Freedom from care ! The words lingered with him. 
Their meaning grew and grew with talismanic effect 
upon his mentality. He had never been free from care 
during all his married life. On the twenty-first day 
of this very month would be rounded out the quarter 
century of unbroken anxiety which he had silently en- 
dured. His silver wedding day! He was awaiting 
the anniversary, waiting for Miriam to speak about it, 
glad in a measure that it seemed to have escaped her 
attention, for he had no gift of the regulation precious 
metal, not even a silver teapot or tray, to bestow upon 
her as a tribute of his abiding devotion. 

Their interchange of gifts during married life had 
necessarily been few and far between, and in decreas- 
ing frequency as the years had rolled on. But for his 
unfortunate break-down in health he would have been 


70 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


able to make her some little offering on so notable an 
occasion. His inability to do so had added to the 
care oppressing him while he lay sick abed. Yet free- 
dom from care was a prime essential to recovery. He 
read the physician’s dictum over again. It strength- 
ened him. 

“ Let the silver wedding go — let all thought of it 
go. Silver weddings are only for the rich and pros- 
perous. They can assuredly have no place in the do- 
mestic economy of an impoverished shoe-pegger.” 

The very thought brightened him. Unconsciously 
he was beginning to absorb the philosophy of the doc- 
tor’s advice to lay all cares aside as the necessary pre- 
liminary for taking a cure. His first burden had been 
thrown away. No silver wedding anniversary to 
worry over or regretfully brood upon! The deter- 
mination made him a little more care-free even now. 

Into the desert he could take with him only very few 
of his personal belongings. First of all he would re- 
quire his little portable kit of cobbling tools — thereby 
he would undoubtedly be able to earn a meal or a 
night’s lodging, performing a well-appreciated service, 
no doubt, for some lonely rancher or miner, and pre- 
serving his own self-respect by paying for what he re- 
ceived. Then, of course, he would take some books. 

But right here he paused to think. Why “ of 
course”? Wouldn’t it be fine just to be a tramp on 
the desert, to wander around as one chose, to get one’s 
reading from the rocks and sands and scrub, the coyotes 
and the beetles, the uplifted hills sublime in their rug- 
ged nakedness, the sun and moon and the twinkling 
stars ? 


THE CALLING WILDERNESS 


7i 


Let the books be left behind ! An heroic resolve, for 
books had been his life-long companions, purveyors of 
happiness, consolers in adversity, stimulants to thought 
at all times. But the books would now be abandoned. 
His resolve was made. His shoulders straightened, 
his mind expanded. Care was being jettisoned at a 
rapid rate. He caught himself humming apprecia- 
tively the refrain of one of the old-time songs with 
which he had delighted many an audience — “ The 
Vagabond ” : 

Homeless , ragged, and tanned, 

Under the changeful sky! 

Who so free in the land, 

Who so contented as If 

Clothes need not worry him — he had only one half- 
respectable suit in any case, and a rolled blanket could 
carry a toothbrush and change of underwear. Just 
this tiny swag, and his little tool box, together with his 
stout walking stick standing in a corner of the room. 
And Marsh Gordon was simply astounded by the re- 
alization of how very, very little the care-free desert 
tramp really requires. 

But there was still Miriam, Bernice, and Bessie to 
think about. Ah! here came the rub. But an hour 
of musing wonderfully smoothed away all difficulties. 
His wife would be obviously relieved by his departure, 
Bernice would no doubt be married and looked after 
before long, Bessie would be the sole responsibility 
on her mother’s hands. 

To part from dear wee Bessie would mean a terrible 
heart-wrench. But in his present sick condition he 


72 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


was no fit companion for the child — their association 
even now had been pretty well reduced to that of the 
plague-stricken people in Bunyan’s tale where the un- 
smitten brought food for the smitten by laying it on a 
stone, calling out, and then hurriedly taking them- 
selves off again. On due reflection it was right and 
proper that even Bessie should be relieved of his pres- 
ence — for awhile only, perhaps, for if the desert did 
come to effect a cure he would return and gather the 
dear child to his breast as he had hardly ever ventured 
to do before. 

So for everyone’s sake the change he was contem- 
plating was the best thing possible. He drew a deep 
breath of relief when he arrived at this sure convic- 
tion. He even smiled happily, for cares were van- 
ishing one by one, like wisps of mist kissed by the 
morning sun. Only one matter remained in doubt. 
There must be some provision for the dear ones he was 
leaving behind. 

But there was a solution for this difficulty also. He 
crossed over to his little trunk, unlocked it, threw 
aside a superincumbent layer of clothes, and surveyed 
the row of small canvas sacks that contained his day- 
by-day dime savings. Thank God, he had made and 
stuck to that early resolve of a system of methodical, 
if small, economies. The amount was all in dimes, 
just as he had dropped the little silver coins one by 
one into each bag until it was filled to capacity, and a 
new one had to be obtained from some bank on the 
morrow. 

The hour was late — he had kept on thinking and 
planning until all the little town around him was 


THE CALLING WILDERNESS 


73 


asleep. And the task of counting would take consid- 
erable time. But he tackled it, determined to check 
the record. 

First of all he poured out the contents of each sack 
until there was a great heap of shining silver on the 
centre of the table. Then he paused to do some pre- 
paratory figuring — twenty-five years of 365 days, 
with six leap-year days thrown in. This should give 
$913.10. Fie now began stacking the coins in little 
pillars of ten. The job was a long one, but, growing 
more expert as he proceeded, he at last completed it. 

And, lo and behold ! there was the amount correct to 
a dime — $913.10, for it wanted two days yet of the 
twenty-first day of the month, his wedding anniversary, 
and next morning’s contribution would adjust the tally. 
He spent another hour in re-filling nine of the sacks, 
each with the exact amount of $100, then tying them 
securely and marking with ink on the canvas the value 
of the contents. The balance of $13 he rolled up into 
little packets, bank fashion, one dollar in each roll. 
He put these by themselves in another sack, and finally 
restored the entire hoard to its accustomed place of 
hiding. 

Marsh Gordon stood erect. There was something 
of new strength in his figure, new strength in his res- 
olute smile of satisfaction. He knew now why Provi- 
dence had prompted him to accumulate that cash re- 
serve. The hour of real emergency, the justification 
for its use, were at hand. Nine hundred dollars 
would provide a year’s living in the little rent-free 
home. The balance of thirteen dollars would be ample 
capital for a peripatetic cobbler on the desert — three 


74 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


dollars together with the small change in his pocket 
would transport him to Los Angeles and thence by rail- 
road to the borderland of the wilderness where his 
tramping would begin with perhaps ten dollars still in 
Land. 

At last, in the “ wee sma’ hoors ayont the twal,” 
Gordon laid himself down to sleep. And he slept the 
deep, tranquil sleep of the care-free child. He did not 
even dream — the calling desert was no longer a 
dream; it was the assuredly promised land already 
made free of entry to the homeless wanderer. 


/ 


CHAPTER VIII 


RENUNCIATION 

W HEN he arose next morning Marsh Gordon was 
a changed man. For weeks past he had, more 
than ever before, been perturbed and worried and dis- 
satisfied both with himself and with his hard fate. 
All that feeling was now gone. In the process of self- 
analysis he had come to recognize clear truths, and in 
frankly recognizing them had attained a wonderful 
placidity of mind. 

He had some time before fully realized that a drier 
climate than that of Venice-by-the-Sea afforded him 
the only hope of a cure — a slender hope, but still one 
that afforded at least some chance of restored health 
and strength. But this knowledge up to now had only 
served to depress him, for the goal seemed to be impos- 
sible of attainment. While daily bread for those de- 
pendent on him had to be earned, it had seemed impos- 
sible to quit the slavery of the cobbler’s bench. But 
now that he saw the way to emancipation, his spirits 
rose. And his soul was filled with wonderment as to 
how easy it all was. He had been sitting for years 
with heavy iron shackles around his wrists, and had all 
this time failed to notice their disproportionate size — 
failed to see that it was only necessary to slip his 
hands through to be free. 

75 


76 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


With this very thought there came, even already, 
signs of physical change. His eye was brighter, his 
voice less quavering, his whole demeanor one of greater 
confidence and self-reliance. As he paced the little 
room he braced his shoulders, and was surprised to 
find that he could straighten out the shoe-maker’s 
hump without inducing a fit of coughing. Outside it 
was a fine day of sunshine. He reached for his walk- 
ing stick, and sallied forth. He wanted to continue 
his self-communing, and as an aid to this he felt that 
he must be alone with Nature — among the hills, along 
the ocean fringe, anywhere in the great solitudes where 
the divine spirit manifests itself most clearly to man. 

His heart was still filled with love for the wife and 
the daughters whom, mainly for their own sake, he 
was on the eve of abandoning. And during the long 
day, up in the canyon where Bessie and he had had 
their delightful little picnic, among the cowslips and 
the tiger-lilies once again, he mused fondly and ten- 
derly over old days. Any vague thoughts that might 
have been recently shaping themselves in his mind, 
that Miriam had sacrificed him almost entirely for the 
sake of their children, were banished. He was look- 
ing upon her now only as the fond and devoted mother, 
and feeling grateful to her for her splendid manage- 
ment that had reared the one daughter to beautiful and 
accomplished womanhood, and the other to sweet and 
charming girlhood. 

“ Dear, brave Miriam,” he murmured. “ What a 
noble life of self-denial and endurance! It is I my- 
self who have been her greatest disappointment — who 
have made her marriage a dismal failure, a constant. 


RENUNCIATION 77 

heart-breaking struggle to make ends meet — a fight 
for bread and mere existence.” 

And in this mood of contriteness and self-abase- 
ment, he gathered for her a bouquet of the tiger-lilies 
she had loved so much in the old days of courtship, 
when she had been used to call him “ handsome, brave, 
and strong,” to give him frequent words of praise for 
his splendid voice and singing, to ask him constantly 
for his opinion about things and linger on his spoken 
words, in short to reveal the true and perfect amia- 
bility of her real character, which the unhappy mar- 
tyrdom of marriage had dimmed to his eyes but could 
not efface from his memory. 

While he thus reflected, he little knew that Miriam at 
that very moment was with Bernice and Burn, enjoy- 
ing an afternoon “ tango ” in the most fashionable 
hotel at Long Beach, a few miles distant, whither the 
party of three had motored in a superb new limousine 
which the bridegroom of the morrow was trying out 
as a gift for his bride on their wedding day. 

“ Close on five o’clock already ! ” exclaimed Marsh 
Gordon in great surprise as, after making his bouquet, 
he consulted the little gun-metal watch he was in the 
habit of wearing. The modest chronometer lingered 
between his fingers. The unexpected lateness of the 
hour was momentarily forgotten. He was thinking 
now of the watch itself, for it had been a gift from 
Miriam — a pledge of her love bestowed a few days 
after their engagement. 

And for more than five-and-twenty years he and the 
little gun-metal watch had been daily companions. It 
had proved to be a wonderful time-keeper, seldom call- 


78 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


ing for an overhaul or for repairs. And its steady 
tick-tick-tick had come to be for Marsh Gordon a sort 
of symbolization of his wife’s constant love. When 
she was far away he had often thought that her heart 
was beating, just as the watch was ticking, for him 
all the time. It was a pleasing fancy, and even if 
Marsh could on any occasion have afforded a costlier 
chronometer, set with jewels and encased with gold, 
it is doubtful whether he would have exchanged for 
it the humble gun-metal watch to which were attached 
so many tender sentiments — the gift from his Miriam. 
Even now before he returned it to his waistcoat pocket 
he pressed its smooth-worn surface to his lips and 
uttered a little sigh of affection for the donor. Then 
he hurried down the canyon — the night would have 
fallen before he could possibly reach home. 

“ My goodness, we were beginning to think you 
were lost,” exclaimed Miriam as she greeted him at 
the door of his screened room. “ Bernice and I had 
just come out to see you. We have important news.” 

She spoke with an uneasy tremor in her voice, and 
there was an uneasy look in her eyes as she drew back 
to let him enter. She stepped into the room after him, 
and when Bernice followed, placed a protecting arm 
across the girl’s shoulders. 

“ Important news,” Marsh faltered. He, too, was 
disturbed, for he could not fail to notice his wife’s agi- 
tation. “ Where is Bessie ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ Oh, Bessie’s all right,” replied Miriam. The com- 
monplace question seemed to restore her to composure. 
She was smiling now. “ My news is about Bernice. 


RENUNCIATION 79 

The dear girl is going to be married. ,, And she drew 
Bernice still closer and kissed her. 

“ So I have understood for some time.” The 
words were spoken coldly, his manner became cold. 
For he could not but remember that Bernice’s lover 
had never been presented to him — that pretty nearly 
all he knew about him was from Bessie’s childish 
prattle. 

“ Well, the date is fixed. The marriage takes place 
tomorrow.” 

For a moment Marsh Gordon stood rigid. Like a 
flash came the thought that all this had been studiously 
kept from him until the very last moment. Silence in 
such a case had amounted to deception, and he was 
appalled that he, the father, could have been treated 
with such utter lack of consideration. 

“ I came for you to wish me good luck, papa,” said 
Bernice, with a sweet smile and in the soft cooing 
voice that had always been as music to her lover’s ear. 

But Marsh had hardly heard her. 

“ They are to be married on the twenty-first ? ” he 
asked, addressing his question to Miriam. 

“ Yes — tomorrow,” she replied. 

For a moment he fixedly regarded her. He was 
wondering whether she remembered the special sig- 
nificance of the date in their own lives. Bernice’s 
nuptials would take place on the silver anniversary of 
her parents’ wedding. Great heavens ! Was Miriam 
oblivious of the fact? Had she forgotten all about 
the day which he had always kept in such tender 
memory ? 


8o THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


As his eyes searched hers, these were the questions 
in his heart. But Miriam gave no sign. 

“ Sit down,” she said, motioning him to his accus- 
tomed chair close to the reading stand on the table. 
“ Unfortunately we can’t stay long, as we have an en- 
gagement out — a little dance in Bernice’s honor at the 
Grahams’.” 

He had automatically done her bidding and dropped 
into the chair. But both mother and daughter re- 
mained standing. He rested an elbow on the table; 
his fingers nervously but silently drummed upon it. 
He did not speak — just waited for her to continue. 

“Of course you’ve heard about Burn Hopkins — 
such a nice young fellow, rich parents, but well off 
already on his own account, and with a splendid career 
ahead of him. I count our dear Bernice very lucky 
indeed, and feel myself relieved of no end of respon- 
sibility. Well, Burn quite suddenly made up his mind, 
and the wedding was fixed for tomorrow. Too bad 
you can’t be present, Marsh, but I excused you on ac- 
count of your serious illness — I made things all right 
for you, don’t worry.” 

“ Very considerate,” he interposed, in a low voice. 
His fingers no longer drummed ; his hand was clenched 
now. 

“ And I was going to suggest that tomorrow you 
might take another ramble among the hills ” — she 
glanced at^he tiger-lilies which he had set down on the 
table. “ Or what would you say to a visit to the Old 
Soldiers’ pRftne? People say it is most interesting — 
everything complete, even to a splendid hospital. 
You would enjoy the brass band, too. I’m just study- 


RENUNCIATION 


81 


mg your own comfort, Marsh. There will be quite 
a number of automobiles here for the wedding, and 
the yard will be wanted for them. All the racket and 
excitement would be sure to upset your nerves.” 

He was hardly listening to her now. His mind was 
harkening back to her suggestion of a holiday for him- 
self on his daughter’s wedding day at a home for 
aged and more or less decrepit war veterans, peram- 
bulating the hospital wards or treating himself to the 
delirious enjoyment of the afternoon brass band per- 
formance. The cold-bloodedness of the proposition 
chilled him to the marrow of his bones. For the 
moment he was incapable of framing a reply. Miriam 
hastened to make an end of the painful interview. 

“ There now, Bernice, your papa will kiss your hand 
and wish you all the good fortune for which you came 
to ask him. Such a pity that your cough keeps us all 
so apart, Marsh, my dear. But don’t forget my sug- 
gestion about the desert. Now we must be going. 
Good night. Your supper is all ready — being kept 
warm in the oven. Kioto will bring it out for you. 
Good night again.” 

In a bewildered maze so far as Marsh Gordon was 
concerned, the two women had departed. He was 
dimly conscious of having raised Bernice’s hand to his 
lips, of having bestowed upon her his paternal bless-; 
ing, of having noticed the suspicion of tears in the 
pretty girl’s eyes as she had impulsively thrown an arm 
around his shoulder, drawn him down to her, and 
kissed him on the brow. He was not quite certain 
whether he had shaken hands with Miriam. 

But as he resumed his seat and gazed steadily into 


82 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


the vacancy before him, this he realized — realized 
with a dull aching pain in his heart — that one of his 
children was to be married on the morrow, that he 
had not been bidden to the feast, and that his wife had 
even forgotten the anniversary of her own wedding 
day. And the words of Kipling throbbed through his 
brain : 

And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame 
That stings like a white hot brand — 

It's coming to know that she never knew why 

And never coidd understand. 


CHAPTER IX 


DEPARTURE 



HEN the Japanese boy brought the supper tray. 


▼ V little Bessie came too, all ready for the evening 
party, looking sweetly pretty in her white frock and 
with her golden curls tossed around her shoulders. 
Kioto laid the small table cloth, arranged the viands, 
and departed. 

“ I can only stay a minute, daddy dear,” exclaimed 
the child, “ but I ran out to say good night. We are all 
going to a party.” 

“ So your mother told me. And about the wedding 
tomorrow. I am so glad to know of Bernice’s hap- 
piness.” 

Marsh Gordon, in speaking to Bessie, was his old 
gentle self again. He was even smiling pleasantly if 
just a trifle wistfully. 

“ I’m so sorry you are too sick to come to the wed- 
ding, daddy,” murmured Bessie, ruefully. “ Is your 
cough so very, very bad ? ” 

“ It is very bad, dear. I’m afraid it would disturb 
the guests. A wedding is no place for a hopeless 
invalid.” 

He coughed behind his hand — a voluntary effort 
this time to give verisimilitude to his words. It cer- 
tainly was a bad cough, with a cavernous echo that 
might well distress any listener. 


84 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Oh, don’t say that, papa. Mama told me you are 
thinking of going out on the desert, to get well again.” 

The father paused for a moment before replying. 

“ Yes, my dear little Bessie,” he said at last, taking 
her hand in both his own and speaking with great ten- 
derness. “ I am going to try the desert air to see if 
it can do me any good. And you’ll all be happier at 
home here, without me to worry you.” 

“ No, no, daddy,” cried the child, nestling close to 
him and putting her disengaged arm around his shoul- 
ders. “ Although I see so little of you, I’m always 
glad to know that you are not far away. I’ll miss you 
terribly.” 

“Bessie! — Bessie!” It was the voice of Miriam 
calling. 

There was a great lump in Gordon’s throat and a 
tear trickled down his cheek. He drew her closer to 
him so as to conceal his agitation. “ God bless and 
guard you, my wee darling. But you must go now — 
your mother and Bernice will be waiting for you. 
Good night, sweetheart.” And he kissed her on the 
brow. 

“ Good night, daddy dear. I’ll see you in the morn- 
ing.” She shook her curls into orderliness, then blew 
him a kiss from her rosy lips as she flitted away like a 
little fairy. 

“ Goodby,” murmured Gordon to himself. “ Not 
good night, dear child, but goodby. By tomorrow 
morning your daddy will be far away — a wanderer 
in the wilderness.” 

And again he found himself humming the old 
refrain : 


DEPARTURE 


85 


On the other side of Jordan , 

In the sweet Helds of Eden , 

Where the tree of life is blooming, 

There is rest for me. 

Then opce more he fell a-musing. The supper, 
forgotten, lay untouched before him. A full hour 
elapsed. At last he bestirred himself, and pulled out 
his watch. 

“ Past nine o’clock.” 

Once again his fingers lingered on the well polished 
gun-metal case. He sprang it open, and read the in- 
scription within — “ To M. G. from Miriam.” He 
contemplated the letters for a few moments, then, 
snapping the case shut, returned the watch to his 
pocket. This 'time there was no betrayal of sentiment 
— no kiss bestowed as up in the canyon earlier in the 
day among the cowslips and the tiger-lilies. 

He rose to his feet. His face was very grave. He 
stepped to the door, opened it, and gazed across the 
yard. The home was in complete darkness. Return- 
ing to the table, he pushed the untasted supper aside, 
and, producing writing materials from a drawer pro- 
ceeded to pen a letter. 

The letter was a fairly long one, but it did not take 
him long to write it, for its terms had shaped them- 
selves in his mind during the hour of preliminary med- 
itation. He held it in his hand for final perusal. 
Written in the clear, beautiful penmanship of which 
Marsh Gordon had been always justifiably proud, were 
the following words : 


86 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“My very dear Miriam: 

“ Before our conversation this evening I had al- 
ready decided to go out on the desert, partly in quest 
of health, partly from the conviction that it will be 
best for you all that I should seek the isolation which 
is right and proper in the case of serious tuberculosis. 
The decision made, there is no reason to delay my 
leave-taking. I depart tonight on my pilgrimage. 
Tomorrow my dear Bernice and her young friends 
will not be worried by my presence. I hope the wed- 
ding will go merrily — as all weddings should — as 
our own went on the very same day five-and-twenty 
years ago, although somewhat to my surprise you seem 
to have forgotten the anniversary. 

“ Whither exactly to turn my steps I do not yet 
know. In a measure chance will decide. If possible 
you will hear from me at intervals. But as I shall no 
longer be a regular wage-earner and breadwinner, it 
is necessary that I should leave some provision behind. 
And now I have a confession to make — a secret which 
is the only one I have kept from you during the entire 
period of our married life. 

“ Every day for twenty-five years, in view of some 
possible great emergency just such as the one that has 
now arisen, I have laid aside one silver dime, until 
now my hoard has amounted to $913.10. Of this 
sum I leave you $900 in the identical canvas sacks that 
have served me for a savings bank — you will find this 
money in my trunk, the key of which I enclose. The 
balance of $13.10, together with a dollar or two of 
loose change which I have in my purse, will suffice 
for all my immediate requirements. As I have re- 


DEPARTURE 


87 


solved not to worry any longer about the future, I 
shall leave the future, so far as I am concerned, to look 
after itself. 

“ I derive peace of mind from the thought that, 
while Bernice is happily married to a man who can 
take every care of her, for you and Bessie there is, 
with due economy, a full year’s provision of life’s nec- 
essaries. Therefore neither shall I worry about you 
and dear little Bessie, God bless her. I go forth to 
seek my cure absolutely a care- free man, liberated at 
last from the daily continuous grind to earn sustenance 
for those dependent on me — a grim struggle both of 
mind and of body, the terribleness of which, without 
remission during twenty-five long years, I think you 
have hardly realized. Leaving this money behind, I 
can for the present at all events lay down my burden 
of anxiety. 

“ Dear wife, at times recently I have fancied that 
your love for me has waned into indifference. But 
even if this be the truth, there is no blame in my heart 
for you. A sick man becomes but a sorry lover. And 
I am deeply conscious of my failure in life, my ina- 
bility to rise from the humble station to which insis- 
tent responsibilities have always seemed to keep me 
chained, the vanishing of all the ambitious dreams of 
young manhood. 

“ These ambitions belonged to the time when both 
you and I were young. I have grown steadily older 
with the years; you have remained young despite the 
years, for you are just as pretty, almost as youthful 
looking, as on the day you gave me your heart and 
hand. I recognize the difference that has thus grown 


88 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


up between us. I have had no right to the continuance 
of your ardent young love and can in my heart honor 
you for having devoted your robust health and 
strength to the upbringing of our darling children. 
To you all the credit for unselfishness and self-sacri- 
fice is rightfully due. 

“ So now there remains only the one word — adieu. 
In the literal meaning of this tender word I commend 
you all to God’s keeping. Goodby, Miriam; goodby, 
Bernice ; goodby, little Bessie. Heaven bless each one 
of you, and may I find you all well and happy if God 
wills that I should return. 

“ Affectionately, 

“ Marsh Gordon/’ 

He read the letter carefully a second time, then 
crossed over to the trunk, and after taking out the old 
sack with the thirteen dollars in rolls locked it again 
securely. He deposited the money bag on the table, 
and in doing so his hand touched the bouquet of 
tiger-lilies. A thought occurred to him. He paused. 

After a moment of reflection he drew forth one of 
the stems, and, cutting it close to the blossom, pinned 
to the flower a scrap of paper inscribed with the two 
words — “ For Memory.” Then he placed the flower 
together with the key of the trunk in the letter, sealed 
the envelope, and taking it with him left the room. 

Although Marsh Gordon had of late rarely entered 
the home, he had always retained his latch key. So 
he was able to gain admission into the dark and de- 
serted bungalow. Turning up the lights in the parlor, 
he surveyed preparations for the morrow that must 


DEPARTURE 


89 


have taken quite a time to complete. When he moved 
along the corridor, he found in his wife’s room, set 
out upon a table, a whole array of wedding gifts, some 
of them displayed, others in packages or leather cases 
bearing the monograms of the happy young couple. 
With a sickening feeling at his heart, he glanced into 
Bernice’s room. There, resting on the couch and 
hanging over the backs of chairs, were gowns that 
must have required weeks for their making. He 
knew now that the coming event had been concealed 
from him for quite a long time — that Miriam had 
equivocated, to use the mildest term, when this very 
evening she had led him to believe that Burn Hopkins 
had quite suddenly claimed an early date for the 
wedding. 

He realized that his presence in these rooms was an 
intrusion. Unconsciously he began to move with the 
uneasy stealthfulness of a burglar. With this feeling 
oppressing him, his desire was to get quickly done 
with the business that had brought him there and be 
gone. 

So he turned to his wife’s apartment, and opening a 
drawer in the dresser to which he knew she almost 
daily repaired, he thrust the letter under a heap of 
gloves, ribbons, laces, and other feminine oddments. 
Then turning down the lights as he proceeded, he 
passed through the house and emerged onto the ver- 
anda, leaving the home all in darkness as he had found 
it. 

Back in the screened summer-house, Gordon soon 
completed his arrangements for departure. He had 
no appetite to eat, but he put the portion of now cold 


90 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


roast chicken, also the accompanying slices of bread 
and a couple of apples into wrapping paper, and plac- 
ing the provender with the few selected articles of un- 
derwear, the tooth-brush and the cake of soap, finally 
rolled all up in the big blue blanket that had served on 
his bed as a counterpane, and strapped the bundle into 
a neat and convenient roll. 

It was unnecessary for him to inspect his tool-kit — 
he had always kept it fully equipped with hammer, 
knives, awls, a box of pegs, a bunch of waxed ends, 
a supply of soles and of repairing leather, strap, apron, 
everything complete and arranged in precise orderli- 
ness. The box was shaped like a small grip, and pro- 
vided with a stout leather handle. So with this grip 
in one hand, his walking stick in the other, and the 
blanket roll slung from his shoulder, Marsh Gordon 
was ready for the road. 

He gave one glance around the room that had been 
his room for several months — a regretful glance, for 
the place had become endeared to him by the compan- 
ionship of books, by spells of restfulness and thought, 
by the quietness and solitude he had come to love, even 
by the very sickness he had patiently endured and, for 
the time being, partially conquered. His glance fell 
upon the remaining tiger-lilies. 

“ Little Bessie loves flowers,” he murmured, as he 
took a vase from the mantelshelf, poured some water 
into it from the pitcher on the table, and arranged the 
rich blooms so that the little girl might not find them 
withered and wilted in the morning. 

“ God bless her ! 99 he added, as he switched off the 
light and stepped into the balmy night air. Outside 


DEPARTURE 


9i 


he stood motionless for a few moments. Everything 
was very still — even at this distance he could hear 
the gentle moaning of the ocean. 

Then the wanderer, making for a new land of hope, 
staff in hand like the pilgrims of old, moved on his 
way toward the great unknown. 


CHAPTER X 


TOWARD THE LAND OF EXILE 

T HE night was still young, and Venice-by-the-Sea 
was all aflame with lights and astir with gaiety. 
As he passed the thoroughfare leading to the pier, 
Marsh Gordon could hear the strains of music from 
the cabarets, the strident voices of the “ barkers ” in 
front of show booths, the shuffle of feet in the dancing 
halls. But he moved on, toward the interurban car- 
line terminus. Here was a little throng awaiting, and, 
profiting by the occasion, was a wheedler of small 
coin, whose specialty lay in guessing the weight of 
individuals. He stood beside a portable weighing 
machine. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, I can guess your weight 
within five pounds. Step onto the scales. Get your 
correct weight. If I’m right, one nickel. If I’m 
wrong, nothing to pay at all ” — this was the patter of 
the speculator in avoirdupois. 

Gordon listened. Yes, he would like to know his 
weight at the start of his tramping expedition. There 
happened to be no customers in sight at the moment, 
so, overcoming his natural shyness, he moved toward 
the man at the machine. 

“ Come along, mate,” said the fellow, encouragingly. 
“ You wor’ st the springs, that’s certain. Ninety 
92 


TOWARD THE LAND OF EXILE 


93 


pounds,” he ventured by way of prophecy, once he had 
run a hand over the customer’s lean anatomy. “ Step 
up now, and see how close I am.” 

Gordon complied — timidly, for eyes in the throng 
had begun to turn round now, yet submissively, for he 
had committed himself too far to recede. 

The needle swung round slowly and after a few hesi- 
tating oscillations came to rest. 

“ Ninety-one pounds,” the proprietor of the machine 
announced, in the loud tone again of the commercial 
spieler. “ Only one pound out. A nickel — thank 
you. Next, ladies and gentlemen. I can size you all 
up, from ninety-one pounds of skin and bone to two 
hundred and fifty of solid brawn.” 

Ninety-one pounds of skin and bone! Gordon, 
quite flustered by having attracted so much attention, 
had slipped into the comparative obscurity of the 
crowd. But he had heard the taunt, and when a few 
minutes later he climbed onto the car for Los Angeles 
and took his seat in a quiet corner, it afforded him food 
for reflection. 

Only ninety-one pounds in weight. Yet he knew 
that his height was close on five foot eleven, although 
the cobbler’s stoop in his shoulders might make him 
look somewhat less tall. There was an ominous dis- 
parity between the two figures. He remembered the 
days when he weighed around 150, when his condition 
had been one of fine muscularity, without an ounce of 
superfluous fat to cumber his well-set-up frame. The 
loss of weight was the measure of the inroads which 
the lung trouble had already made upon his physical 
condition. Ninety-one pounds of skin and bone left 


94 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


— he realized that the loss of a few pounds more must 
mean dissolution. He was neither depressed nor dis- 
mayed by the reflection. He was just glad that he had 
now the certain knowledge of the narrow margin of en- 
durance upon which he could reckon. 

The hour’s ride to Los Angeles was a restful experi- 
ence — he stepped down from the car with something 
of his old spryness and agility. Then he shouldered 
his swag, and passed from the depot to the street, en- 
countering a throng of theatre patrons hurrying to 
catch the late cars for their homes in outlying towns. 
The lights, the stir and the bustle, pleased him. He 
seemed to be entering a new world, or re-entering an 
old world from which he had been long debarred by the 
bonds of slavery. 

On foot, enjoying the slow leisurely walk, he made 
his way in the direction of the Southern Pacific railway 
station. There was no need to hurry ; he already knew 
that no train would be available until the early hours of 
morning. One hand now held both the kit of tools 
and the strap of his bundle; the other hand, in the 
side pocket of his coat, rested on the ten little rolls of 
dimes in their canvas sack. 

He was within a stone’s throw of the station and 
approaching a cigar stand. The man behind the glass 
show-cases appeared to be a bluff, kindly sort of indi- 
vidual. Gordon, mustering up his courage, stopped 
before him. 

“ A five cent cigar, please,” he asked diffidently, after 
depositing the grip on the sidewalk at his feet. 

“ What kind? ” 

The question was a poser; the would-be purchaser 


TOWARD THE LAND OF EXILE 


95 

had not smoked a cigar for ten years — the nomencla- 
ture of the different brands was out of his line. 

“ Oh, any kind — a mild one,” he answered, deposit- 
ing his nickel even before venturing to take a cigar 
from the box now proffered to him. 

“ Fine night,” remarked the vendor, as he rung up 
the cash register by his side. “ Some matches ? ” 
And taking the answer for granted, he passed over a 
little box of safeties. 

Gordon was nervously toying with the unwonted 
cigar between finger and thumb, making as yet no show 
to light it. The man’s friendly manner encouraged 
him to get to the real business he had in view. 

“ Would you mind changing some dimes for bills? ” 
he asked, half apologetically, as he produced the money 
bag and laid three or four of the rolls on the counter. 

For a moment the man behind the cigar boxes be- 
stowed a close scrutiny upon the maker of this some- 
what unusual request. It was nervousness, no doubt, 
that caused Marsh Gordon to cough. He turned aside 
his face, raised his lean fingers to his lips, and tried to 
repress the hollow sepulchral sound that issued. The 
cigar-merchant did not utter the words, but his eyes 
spoke them eloquently enough : “ Poor old chap.” 

At last Gordon controlled the paroxysm. His swag 
had dropped onto the sidewalk beside the grip. He 
picked it up and readjusted it on his shoulder, tramp 
fashion. At the very moment the sound of railroad 
cars being shunted in the depot close by could be heard. 

Again the eyes of the two men met. 

“ Going out on the desert ? ” asked the dealer in to- 
bacco. “ I would say that’s the place for you — with 


96 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


that bad cough,” he added, softening the remark. 
“ Oh, I’ve seen lots of chaps like you boarding the S. P. 
trains. And some of them come back all right. Now, 
how many dimes have you there ? ” 

“ I want to change ten dollars,” replied Gordon, as 
he made up the indicated amount, placing the rolls side 
by side on the counter. “ Don’t think I’ve been rob- 
bing my kiddies’ banks,” he went on, with a grim but 
wistful smile. “ I just did a little saving on my own 
account this way.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” was the reply, as the dealer 
broke one of the rolls and counted the contents. Then 
he swept the other nine, uncounted, into a drawer, and, 
opening the cash register, produced a crisp ten-dollar 
bill. Gordon accepted it thankfully; he could have 
wished for assorted bills of smaller denominations, but 
was too diffident to give further trouble. 

“ You’ll find the amount all right,” he remarked. 
Then he folded the bill and bestowed it in a flat leather 
purse beside a couple of silver dollars. 

“ Oh, I’m not worrying about that. And here, 
mate, just have this cigar on me. Smoke my health 
some night under the stars,” And Gordon, a trifle be- 
wildered, found himself the possessor of a big rotund 
club-house — with a red and gold band — of a quality, 
he could guess, that only rich men could afford. 

“ I surely will,” he answered, with the courteous dig- 
nity which the kindly gift deserved. “ Good night, 
and thank you very much indeed.” 

Swag on shoulder, looking the tramp and feeling the 
tramp by now, he passed on his way toward the rail- 
way station. But he wondered. He knew that the 


TOWARD THE LAND OF EXILE 


97 


hardened hobo was in the habit of commandeering 
largesse, mostly in the form of meals. The voluntary 
generosity came as a surprise. No doubt it was the 
very thing he himself might have done had the posi- 
tions been reversed. But this was not in his thoughts. 
He was just moved by such an unlooked for manifes- 
tation of sympathy and kindness — the sympathy and 
kindness which, if exercised generally, could make the 
whole world kin, the down-and-outer a brother to be 
succored, not hastily judged, spurned, and kicked aside. 

The ticket office was still open, and he lost no time 
in purchasing with his remaining dimes and one of his 
dollars the ticket that would carry him a few hours 
later from the city of plenty to the verge of the desert 
wilderness. He took a seat in one corner of the spa- 
cious waiting room. He was wakeful, without any 
inclination to sleep, and as many nights perhaps with- 
out a bed were in view, he thought that the new ex- 
perience might commence right now. There were 
others besides himself on the seats, awaiting trains 
with heads pillowed upon rolls of bedding swathed in 
canvas, evidently accustomed patrons of the Hotel of 
the Beautiful Star, as the French tramp gaily describes 
his sleeping quarters. 

He happened to have taken a place near to the lunch 
counter room, and from this quarter, through the wide- 
open doors, there came wafted to the wanderer’s nos- 
trils the fragrance of coffee and of beef-steaks in pro- 
cess of cooking. Marsh Gordon, hitherto sustained 
by the excitement of his departure, began to feel hun- 
gry. He had the cold collation in his swag — chicken 
and rolls. But that he had designed as his first meal 


98 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


on the morrow — out on the desert, with the food itself 
a tender reminder of his loved ones at home. No, he 
would not change from this intention. But he felt that 
he must eat now — should eat now. And the sugges- 
tive odors of a hot juicy steak were terribly inviting. 
He touched the bulging shape of the silver dollar in his 
purse, longingly, not in the spirit of the miser but in 
that of the reckless spender. 

Well, in any case, he was a hobo now, free from all 
care or thought of the morrow. “ Homeless, ragged, 
and tanned ” — the song of the vagabond came back to 
memory. And in the mood of the song, he picked up 
his bundles and almost swaggered into the lunch room. 
Perching on one of the revolving stools, he bestowed a 
glance at the card of prices, then boldly ordered a sir- 
loin, thick-cut and under-done, with coffee and cream 
for liquid accompaniment 

For years and years he had never so much enjoyed 
a meal. To his own surprise he ate it with hearty ap- 
petite, lingering over each delicious morsel, revelling in 
the mild stimulant of the piping-hot coffee. When he 
stepped out again into the waiting room he felt re- 
freshed, restored, a changed man. 

“No ninety-one pounds of mere skin and bone 
now,” he muttered with a grim smile, as his eyes 
chanced to rest on a penny-in-the-slot weighing ma- 
chine. “ Fve half a mind to see how much IVe gained 
already.” 

But he restrained this ironical impulse, and settled 
himself once more in his chosen corner. He lit his five 
cent cigar, and, although unknowingly he was breaking 
the rules of the waiting room, at this late hour of night, 


TOWARD THE LAND OF EXILE 


99 

or rather early hour of morning, there was no one to 
gainsay the liberty he was taking. 

Long, long ago he had given up the use of tobacco, 
for his wife’s sake, ostensibly, because she had com- 
plained that the smoke got on her nerves, but really for 
the sake of increasing the domestic economies. He 
felt no such obligation now, and every whiff seemed to 
soothe and comfort him, not only mentally but phys- 
ically as well. Of course he knew that the doctors 
would say that the smoke was a deadly irritant to his 
poor lungs. But he did not feel it that way, had not 
the slightest need to cough or expectorate, and smoked 
himself contentedly into a state of placid somnolence. 

“ All aboard for the San Bernardino Valley train! ” 
It was the cry of a colored porter that woke him with a 
start to consciousness that the day had dawned and that 
his train was ready on the platform. He clambered 
aboard, and deliberately chose the smoking car — the 
car for all the fraternity of tramps, to which he now 
belonged. 


CHAPTER XI 


Miriam’s emancipation 

I T was the day following the wedding. Everything 
had gone off splendidly. Bernice had looked her 
best — a charming bride. The bridegroom, hand- 
some, debonair, yet duly impressed with the seriousness 
of the occasion, had shown to fine advantage. Little 
Bessie, as the flower maid in attendance on her sister, 
had won all hearts by her beauty and her winsome 
ways. The ceremony at the church had been attended 
by the best society in the town. At the wedding break- 
fast in the bungalow the chosen guests, a bevy of bright 
young people, had enjoyed themselves to the full. The 
health of the happy couple had been drunk in cham- 
pagne, and they had been driven away in their beautiful 
new limousine amid showers of rice and old shoes. 
Miriam and Bessie had been carried off to a dinner 
and theatre party in Los Angeles, and it was close on 
midnight before they had returned home, tired but de- 
lighted at the close of a perfect day. 

Despite the fatigue and excitement inseparable from 
so great an event, Miriam had risen at her accustomed 
hour. She had started Kioto on the breakfast prepa- 
rations, and, peeping into Bessie’s room to find the 
child still sound asleep, had resolved to allow an extra 
half-hour before waking her to dress for school, 
ioo 


MIRIAM’S EMANCIPATION 


IOI 


Meanwhile she would fill up the time by straightening 
out her own apartment, where considerable confusion 
reigned. In one corner was a little heap of discarded 
wrapping papers, and garments were lying all around 
in odd places, quite contrary to the methodical habits 
usual with their owner. 

Miriam was soon launched into the task of putting 
things away. She moved about leisurely, now hanging 
up a cloak in the closet, next folding a lace shawl and 
restoring it to its accustomed box perfumed with old 
lavender, dusting a little table here, settling a cushion 
there. At last, tossed onto the sofa, she encountered 
the long pair of white gloves which she had worn at 
the wedding. She picked them up, and began to pull 
out the fingers, finally neatly folding the gloves and 
wrapping them in tissue paper. Then she stepped over 
to the drawer of the dresser where gloves and handker- 
chiefs and ribbons were kept. Here, too, was consid- 
erable disorder, which she proceeded to rectify. Soon 
her fingers encountered something out of the ordinary, 
and she drew forth the letter that had been placed there 
for her finding. At a glance she recognized the hand- 
writing on the envelope — “ To my dear wife Miriam.” 
Before springing open the lightly sealed cover, she 
guessed the nature of the contents. 

“ So he has really gone to the desert — just as I sup- 
posed when I found his bed undisturbed yesterday 
morning.” 

With these murmured words she settled herself com- 
fortably in an easy chair, and then unfolded the epistle. 
Its length somewhat surprised her, also the key en- 
closed. But she let this last slip to her lap, where she 


102 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


likewise placed the tiger-lily without as yet reading the 
inscription that accompanied it. Then she proceeded, 
calmly and deliberately, to read her husband’s parting 
message. 

The opening sentences left her equanimity still un- 
disturbed, but when she reached the passage that re- 
vealed the secret of the hoarded money her lips parted, 
she uttered a little ejaculation of excitement, and sat 
bolt-upright in her chair. As she proceeded, a gleam 
of quiet satisfaction came into her eyes. Then, with 
recovered command of her emotions, she went on to 
the close. 

“ Well, that’s all right — the very best thing that 
could have happened,” was her comfortable reflection 
as she dropped the hand that held the letter. “ He 
acted very sensibly indeed in going away quietly, with- 
out any fuss or tears or sentimental display. I like 
him all the better for that, and I’m sure I hope he will 
recover his health out on the desert, although any such 
result seems to me quite unbelievable. At all events 
one in his condition should not be among well people 
— he must have known the terrible risk we were all 
running by his presence here, Bernice and Bessie, not 
to speak of myself, whose good health has been so 
necessary for the sake of the dear girls. But to think 
of him having saved all that money! My word, I 
never dreamed before that he could have been such a 
miser. He never made it possible for me to put away 
a dime each day. And there have been times — many, 
many times — when fifty or a hundred dollars would 
have relieved me of no end of anxiety and made things 
quite different in the home. How often have I gone 


MIRIAM’S EMANCIPATION 


103 


without a new hat, or Bernice with a made-over frock. 
And he had that secret hoard in his trunk all the while. 
Goodness! Even after twenty and more years a wife 
keeps discovering new things about her husband. 
However, he saved the money — so far, so good. As 
he says, it will provide for me and Bessie for perhaps 
a year, and IT1 be able to keep the Jap boy and settle 
down to my china painting in real earnest, without hav- 
ing to worry all the time.” 

While this train of thought was passing through her 
mind, she had folded the letter and replaced it in its 
envelope. She now took the tiger-lily in her hand, and 
read the words on the paper pinned to the stem. 

“ ‘ For Memory! ’ Poor, impracticable Marsh! A 
sentimentalist all the time. If he had had less senti- 
ment and more go-ahead energy, we would have been 
better off today.” 

Miriam had risen to her feet now. She laid the key 
of the trunk on a little table, covering it with the letter. 
Then she crossed the room, tore the scrap of paper into 
four, and tossed the fragments, together with the al- 
ready wilted flower, among the rubbish in a corner of 
the room. 

At this very moment Bessie, dressed for school, her 
eyes aflame with excitement, burst into the room. 

“ Mama, he hasn’t come back yet. Last night he 
didn’t sleep in his bed again.” 

“ Your papa, child ? ” Miriam’s voice came without 
a quiver. “ Oh, you needn’t worry about him. He 
has gone out on the desert, as I told you yesterday 
morning, to see if the dry air there won’t do his cough 
good.” 


104 THE man who discovered himself 


“ And he went away without bidding me goodby,” 
faltered the child, tears welling into her eyes. 

“ Oh, I’ve got a letter,” replied Miriam, laying her 
hand on the envelope resting on the table. “ He sends 
you his love, dear, also to Bernice, and hopes to be back 
soon, feeling strong and fit again.” 

“ Poor, dear daddy — all alone,” Bessie murmured, 
the big tears now rolling down her cheeks. “ Can’t I 
read his letter, mama ? ” 

“ No, my child,” replied her mother with quiet de- 
cisiveness. “ There are things in it intended only for 
me, as you can readily understand. But he tells me to 
give you his fond love, as I said, and just wanted not 
to distress you, and us all, when he slipped so quietly 
away. So there is no need whatever to be anxious 
about him. He’ll get on fine in the dry desert air, and 
is to write us frequently. Now run away, Bessie, and 
tell Kioto to serve breakfast. I’ll be through tidying 
up here in a few minutes.” 

Bessie had been trained to rules of strict obedience. 
She never dared to argue with her mother. So, with 
rueful countenance, she turned and went to do her 
bidding. 

When Bessie had departed for school, and Kioto a 
little later had also taken himself off, Miriam visited 
her husband’s room in the backyard. Her first act was 
to open the trunk, and after she had lifted out one of 
the sacks of dimes, and read the inscription on the tag, 
$100, she was content to run her hand over the eight 
others, leaving them undisturbed meanwhile. She had 
found the bags covered only by an old suit of clothes. 

“ My, but he was taking risks,” she exclaimed, “ hav- 


MIRIAM’S EMANCIPATION 


105 


in g all this money here. Really he was just as irre- 
sponsible as a child, and it was a child’s trick to keep 
on hoarding dimes and never change them into cur- 
rency, or better still deposit them in a savings bank at 
good interest. Now, what am I to do with all this 
small silver? Such an accumulation of chicken-feed I 
never heard of before. The bags together must weigh 
pounds and pounds. This one by itself is quite a load 
to carry — a thousand dimes.” 

She lifted the sack from the table. “ Five or six 
pounds, certainly,” she decided to herself. Then she 
sat down and reflected for a few minutes. 

Presently her mind was made up. Carrying two 
bags at a time, she first of all transported the cash to 
the bungalow sitting-room. Then she telephoned for 
a taxi-cab, put on her hat and jacket, and, while wait- 
ing, studied the little bank passbook which she had 
taken from her bureau. Inscribed on the leather cover 
were the names of both husband and wife — Marsh 
Gordon and Miriam Gordon. The account had been 
a family one — a joint account against which either 
party could check. 

“ Well, in any case he never drew a check all the time 
we were married,” said Miriam to herself, arriving at 
a decision. “ So that will be all right. Besides he 
gave me the money — he does not want it for himself. 
And if he should chance to fall among bad companions, 
who knows but that he might be tempted to draw a 
check, perhaps a big one? Therefore it will be safer 
in my own name, for many reasons.” 

Satisfied on this point she was ready for the chauf- 
feur, who had just announced his arrival by a toot on 


io6 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


his horn. She carefully superintended the man as he 
carried out the sacks of silver and placed them in the 
tonneau. 

At the bank she owed no explanation — she gave 
none beyond the casual remark that the unusual quan- 
tity of dimes represented domestic economies over a 
considerable number of years. She received a tem- 
porary receipt — such a big operation in counting 
would have to be performed after regular bank hours. 
The new passbook would be ready for her next morn- 
ing, and the new account be duly opened on the bank 
books in accordance with her instructions. 

Miriam walked home. She was exhilarated by this 
unexpected access of wealth — permeated with a sense 
of well-satisfied independence. She felt assured now 
that she would be able, to overcome all the final ob- 
stacles to her successful career as a painter on china. 
Before long her name would be quite famous and her 
artistic products in great demand. As she walked 
along the sea-front this thought delighted her. She 
was thankful, too, that she had got the bulky accumu- 
lation of silver safely and unobtrusively transferred 
to the bank — that she, solely and exclusively, held the 
secret of its possession, that neither Bernice nor Bessie 
knew anything about the matter. Then, what a con- 
solation to think that there need be no more pinching 
and paring all the time to make things meet at each 
week’s end! 

Miriam Gordon, indeed, just like her husband, had 
at last been liberated from slavery. His renunciation 
had brought for her emancipation. The irony of it all 


MIRIAM’S EMANCIPATION 


107- 


— unselfishness and selfishness had achieved the same 
end. 

That very evening, with her masterful readiness for 
action, Miriam was able to effect another arrangement 
for her additional comfort at home. Her husband’s 
spare clothes and small personal belongings were 
packed into the trunk that had been more than half 
empty after the removal of the silver. The trunk itself 
was consigned to the cellar of the bungalow. The 
Japanese boy, Kioto, assisted in these operations, prior 
to departure after his routine dish-washing duties. 

Two hours later he returned with a push-cart which 
brought his own belongings, and he was duly installed 
in Marsh Gordon’s room. As the equivalent of board 
and lodging Kioto was to give extra hours of service 
and do some of the laundry work besides. This would 
mean for Miriam, not only diminished laundry bills, 
but complete release from heavy household duties. 
For she had already trained Kioto to be quite a good 
cook, and the youth, like all his race, was only too keen 
to be entrusted with such additional responsibilities 
which in the end would insure advancement to the 
position and pay of a fully qualified culinary artist. 

Altogether an ideal arrangement, reflected Miriam, 
as she crossed the yard after bidding Kioto good night. 
Bessie was already abed and asleep. Miriam felt that 
the child would resent the intrusion of Kioto into her 
father’s room — that she would, in her childlike way, 
look upon the change as a sort of desecration. But 
Miriam would soon settle that. All through their lives 
she had tried to keep her daughters’ minds free from 


io8 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


mawkish sentimentality. With Bernice she had suc- 
ceeded admirably, and now she must take Bessie a little 
more strongly in hand. 

The Japanese boy-student, now alone, surveyed his 
quarters with placid satisfaction. It was the well- 
filled rows of book shelves that had made the new pro- 
posal put forward by his mistress quite irresistible. 
Detailed examination resulted in his being specially at- 
tracted by a historical classic in twelve portly calf- 
bound tomes. He drew forth Volume I, and placed 
it on Marsh Gordon’s reading stand. 

So while the old occupant of the room was gaining 
fresh experiences in life under the desert stars, his 
youthful successor, not less studious in his tastes, was 
poring over the fascinating pages of Gibbon’s “ Decline 
and Fall of the Roman Empire.” Readers may de- 
part or die, but books go on forever. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE BUZZARDS’ ROOST 

TT was high noon when Marsh Gordon descended 
*■* from the railway train. He had so arranged his 
blanket roll and tool kit that he carried both together, 
slung from the walking stick across his shoulder. He 
looked around him inquiringly, to find himself in a 
small town nestled between two parallel ranges of hills. 
Behind him lay the rich fertile valley lands of South- 
ern California. Beyond in the opposite direction ran 
the narrowing gorge through which the train was now 
puffing on its way toward the wilderness. . 

This was not a desert town, for it was surrounded 
with orchards and fields of alfalfa, the vivid greenery 
of which betokened abundant water. Yet the air was 
desert air — hot, but crisp, dry, and exhilarating. 
Gordon breathed it deep down into his lungs with in- 
tense satisfaction; such an atmosphere was as balm 
to their lacerated tissues. He coughed just a little. 
But on the present occasion there was no paroxysm; 
rather his malady was simply taking note of changed 
and improved conditions. 

He moved slowly along the main street, heading 
eastward, following the train. Most of the local men 
were clad simply in shirt and trousers, and the old 
shoe-pegger in his town clothes, coat and vest, collar 
109 


no THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


and tie, soft felt hat and nicely blackened shoes, looked 
quite a swell by contrast. 

More than one passer-by gave him a pleasant “ good 
day ” to which he as cheerfully responded. But he 
proceeded on his leisurely way, for there was nothing 
in the town to detain him. He had his dinner in his 
swag, and, although he had not breakfasted, the sus- 
taining influence of his beef-steak supper during the 
small hours still abided with him. So he was well 
content to saunter on for a few miles toward the goal 
of his pilgrimage, the desert beyond the narrow gorge. 
He would rest in some shady spot when he was tired, 
and eat when exercise and fresh air had given an edge 
to appetite. 

The afternoon was well advanced when, all alone 
now, the cultivated fields changed to sage brush and 
cactus, he halted by a little irrigation ditch that crossed 
the roadway. Twenty or thirty yards up the stream 
was a clump of willow trees. Toward these he bent 
his steps, and sat down in the cool and umbrageous 
shelter. Everything was still and silent but for the 
ripple of the flowing waters and the gentle swish of 
the desiccated wind blowing in from the desert and 
rustling the foliage overhead. 

Spreading his blanket on the sand and using the grip 
as a table, the wanderer partook of his first meal in the 
lonely wilderness. The cold chicken, rolls, and apples 
tasted fine, and for accompanying vintage there were 
copious cups from the ice-cold stream fed by mountain 
snows beyond the foothills. He was eating the home 
food, thinking tenderly of home, and hardly felt him- 
self to be as yet the full-fledged hobo. He looked, too, 


THE BUZZARDS’ ROOST 


nr 


more like a gentle tramp, a refined and educated tramp, 
so that had there been fish in the brook and a rod in 
his hand he might have sat as a picture of some old- 
time Izaak Walton. 

He lingered over the meal, then smoked the plump 
cigar which his friend at the tobacco stand had be- 
stowed upon him. “ A kind-hearted chap,” he re- 
flected as, according to the conditions of the gift, he 
pledged the health of the donor with appreciate whiffs 
of the fragrant weed from Havana. He bethought 
himself, too, that this would probably be his last in- 
dulgence of the kind for many a long day to come. A 
reserve fund of ten dollars would not run to two-bit 
cigars. 

In the cool of the declining afternoon he resumed 
his journey — at an accelerated pace, for he felt won- 
derfully fit and well, and it would be advisable, too, to 
find some place of shelter for the night. He had read 
that the desert is always cold after sundown; even now 
in late July, after a day of grilling heat, he could feel 
a “ bone ” in the air that meant a chilly night to follow. 

The shadows were falling when, ahead of him, he 
spied the lights of another little town, or rather a little 
cluster of shacks this time, grouped around a railroad 
siding. Here he would be able to get a cup of coffee 
and find some wind-protected corner where he could 
sleep wrapped in his blanket, his grip for pillow and the 
starry firmament for canopy. He was the vagabond 
now, and must play the full part, even though the 
memory of his narrow spring bed in the screened room 
at home caused a pang of wistfulness. 

He passed one or two cottages and reached the sta- 


1 12 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


tion buildings — a small waiting room and ticket office, 
a freight house with loading platform, beyond and at a 
little distance back, a row of antiquated railroad 
coaches transformed into dwelling places for Mexicans 
employed on keeping the road bed in repair. Every- 
thing was in darkness except for the signal railway 
lamps. But about a hundred yards further along 
there was a brightly burning log fire, with a group of 
figures squatted around. Here was warmth at all 
events, and he would be able to gain some information 
as to where he was and where a cup of coffee could be 
obtained. 

Thus the guileless pilgrim came to find himself amid 
a gang of hoboes — regular road agents, among whom 
he looked as incongruous as a pigeon among crows. 
But they rose to welcome him, slapped him on the 
shoulder, and, when, somewhat taken aback at sight 
of their grimy unshaven visages and unkempt ragged 
garments, he would have beaten a hasty retreat, in- 
sisted on his staying and gave him a cosy place near 
to the camp fire built from old railroad ties. 

“ Make yourself comfortable, old scout,” exclaimed 
one burly tough who was apparently the leader of the 
gang. “ What’s the news? ” 

“ No news,” replied Gordon, fairly bewildered and 
quite at a loss for a better answer. 

“ Well, you’ve just come in time, sporty,” remarked 
another member of the band. “ We were a-goin’ to 
rush the growler.” 

“ I don’t understand.” 

“ Oh, we know where we can get this here bucket 
filled with dago red in spite of all their damned prohi- 


THE BUZZARDS’ ROOST 


ii3 

bition. And we was just chippin’ in. Pass the hat, 
Bill. The old gent will cough up, sure.” 

Gordon gave a little cough in the proper meaning 
of the word, then politely answered : “ Certainly, al- 

though I don’t want to drink, I’ll pay my share.” 

He reached to his hip pocket, and drew forth his 
purse. At the mere sight of it a buzz of eager expec- 
tation ran round. All the group bunched closer to- 
gether. 

“ Guess you’ll be good for a plunk,” suggested the 
leader, craning forward with talon-like fingers ready, 
if necessary, to make a get-away grab for the spoil. 

A genially smiling, smug looking, rotund individual 
held a battered hat right under Gordon’s nose. 

“ Cough up, cough up,” he said insistently, as if he 
was making a collection at a charity bazaar. 

“ I’m very sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to change 
a ten-dollar bill,” replied the victim of all this impor- 
tunity. 

“ Bully, old rooster. Boys, it’s a sawbuck ! ” cried 
the man with the bucket. “ I’ll fetch the booze and 
bring back the change.” 

“ Thank you,” and with a pleasant smile Gordon 
transferred the ten-dollar bill into his custody. 

“ Then Pedro and the Goat will go with you,” said 
the leader. “ That change will be too big a chunk of 
temptation for you to be luggin’ around all alone, 
Dave, my son.” 

Dave swung the bucket and smiled with understand- 
ing. The three custodians of the ten-dollar bill and 
each other’s honesty went off together, vanishing into 
the deepening obscurity of the night. 


1 1 4 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Gordon resumed his seat by the log-fire, perturbed 
by the unwonted companionship of such a crew of ob- 
vious ruffians, but making up his mind to bid them 
goodby just as soon as he received his change. He 
was unconscious of the hungry, avaricious eyes that 
were now fastened on his shoes and hat, and were even 
sizing up his garments. Some considerable time 
passed, but Gordon continued to warm his lean hands 
by the genial blaze and paid no heed to the muttered 
remarks around him. 

At last the three who had gone to fetch the bucket of 
dago red were heard returning in the distance. They 
were jabbering away like three brothers who had al- 
ready participated in at least a few libations while dis- 
charging their mission. Presently their forms were 
silhouetted as they came within the ring of radiance. 

One of the group in waiting stirred up the fire by 
turning over and pushing together two of the burning 
railroad ties, causing a column of sparks to shoot up- 
wards and cast a lurid glow over the surrounding 
growth of desert scrub. 

“ I say, boys/’ called out the boss, “ why in hell 
don’t you hurry up with the booze? You must think 
us an easy lot to let you fellows fill up while we’re 
almost perishing for a drink.” 

“ Keep your hair on,” replied one of the two hoboes 
who carried the bucket between them. “ You don’t 
wish us to spill any of this here red ink, do you? And 
you don’t suppose our friend with the blind pig let us 
go without standin’ treat after we had bought a whole 
bucket of this stuff?” 

“ Bring me the change,” said the boss. 


THE BUZZARDS’ ROOST 


ii5 


“ Sure,” replied Dave, the cashier of the trio. 

Gordon coughed behind his hand and rose to his 
feet. He approached the leader of the road agents, as 
much as to say : “ I am ready for the little trans- 
action to be closed.” But the other had reached out 
his hand, and was now carefully counting the silver 
coins. After he had satisfied himself that the change 
was right, he calmly pocketed the whole amount. 

“ Sit down, man, sit down,” he said, pointing to the 
log from which Gordon had arisen. “ I’ll attend to 
you presently. Boys, give our angel a drink of that 
dago red.” 

Gordon remained standing, and when an old bat- 
tered meat can filled with the wine was pressed toward 
him for his acceptance drew back a pace or two. 

“ No, thanks,” he said. “ I very seldom touch 
liquor.” 

“ So you won’t drink with us? ” demanded the cup 
bearer, in an angry, menacing tone. “ Well, I’m not 
so damned pertic’lar.” And he quaffed the contents 
of the can at a single draught, then glared again at 
the offender. 

“ If you ain't one of us,” shouted the leader, “ then 
who the hell are you anyhow? To begin with I’m 
going to swap coats with you, right now.” 

And before Gordon fully realized what was hap- 
pening he found himself grabbed by the shoulders, his 
coat slipped over his arms, and a disreputable tattered 
substitute flung at his feet. 

“ And your shoes will just suit me, old sport,” cried 
another rascal coming up from behind and pushing him 
down with a backward movement of a brawny arm. 


ii 6 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Yes, give me your shoes and do it P.D.Q. Do you 
know what that means ?” While he asked the ques- 
tion the ruffian was removing the articles of footwear 
he had coveted. 

“ The waistcoat’s for mine,” piped a treble voice, as 
another pair of arms encircled the prostrate figure. 
“ I ain’t worn one for five years and this is a dandy.” 

Thus was Marsh Gordon, spick and span but an hour 
before, despoiled of his raiment, even to shirt and 
trousers, being left only his underwear, and this by 
way of favor at the peremptory demand of the leader 
of the gang. The latter had pounced upon the gun- 
metal watch before the abstractor of the waistcoat had 
got away with his particular share of the loot. 

“ Quit now, boys, damn you,” shouted the boss. 
“ We’ll forgive the old bird the rest of his outfit. 
This here ticker was just what we was requiring.” 
He held it to his ear to make sure it was a going 
concern. 

“ Excuse me,” faltered Gordon, timidly. During 
the momentary respite he had staggered to his feet, 
presenting in his white undergarments a ludicrous yet 
pathetic figure. “ Surely, gentlemen, you don’t mean 
to take my watch?” he pleaded. “It was a gift to 
me from my wife.” 

This appeal only called forth guffaws of brutal 
laughter. 

“ Give us her address, and we’ll see that the old lady 
gets it back again,” cried one of the soulless villains. 

“ We’ll take her your fond love,” sniggered another. 

“ I guess the watch remains right here,” said the 


THE BUZZARDS’ ROOST 


ii 7 

leader decisively, as he slipped it into the fob of his 
trousers. 

“And my kit of tools?” asked Gordon anxiously, 
pointing to the grip resting beside the log on which 
he had recently been seated. Already his blanket roll 
had vanished. 

Instantly half a dozen hands grabbed at the grip. 

“ ’Pon my word, boys,” observed the boss, watching 
the scuffle, “ looks as if the old gent might be a bit of 
a road agent himself. A safe-breaking outfit, mebbe.” 

But even as the words were spoken the box burst 
asunder and its contents were scattered on the sand 
amid a bunch of eagerly clutching, grimy paws. Soon 
one man had possessed himself of a knife and was 
feeling its sharp edge with satisfaction, another of an 
awl that promised various utilities outside those for 
which the tool was primarily intended, while a third 
was laughingly holding up the shoe-pegging hammer 
with the remark : “ Guess we can try our hand at 

prospecting, fellers.” 

“ Only a little kit for mending shoes,” protested 
Gordon in a broken voice. 

“ Well, these new shoes of yours won’t get any 
mending tonight,” replied the boss brutally, as he 
pointed to a pair of broken-down, short-length boots, of 
which even a mucker running a car in a mine would 
have been ashamed. “ Pull them on, right now, darn 
your skin. And take your other duds as well. Hurry 
up, and get the hell out of here in double-quick time. 
Here, Pedro, pass me another mug of the dago red.” 
He quaffed the contents of the can eagerly and went 


n8 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


on while poor Gordon struggled into the tattered gar- 
ments. “ Since you’re too derned proud, Mr. High- 
falutin’-Man, to drink with us, we don’t want to have 
you here any longer bumming around. You’ve made 
a hellish good trade for these clothes — you’ll be passed 
along as one of us from now on. There’s your lid ” — 
with this he tossed him a disreputable looking old felt 
hat. “You’ll need it on the desert. Now hoof it! 
Hit the trail, damn you ! ” 

As he spoke the last words the ruffian, brandishing 
poor Gordon’s own walking stick, pointed eastward 
along the railroad line. 

Marsh Gordon was a brave man in spirit, but he 
realized too well that his ninety-odd pounds of skin 
and bone could not stand up against these ten or a 
dozen husky hoboes. Pleading he knew to be in vain, 
and further protesting would doubtless only lead to 
kicks and blows being added to the outrageous insults 
he had already been compelled to endure. 

So perforce he obeyed — he hit the trail, leaving 
the miscreant gang to their orgies, craving rather the 
companionship of the coyotes howling lugubriously in 
the distance to that of the revolting buzzards in human 
guise into whose company he had so haplessly strayed. 

Just as his lone figure merged into the darkness, a 
handful of shoe-pegs rained around him — like rice at 
a wedding, accompanied by a final ribald jest to which 
he shut his ears. With a great lump in his throat, 
stung to the heart by shame and sorrow, he blindly 
staggered on into the desert, which, up to an hour be- 
fore, had been to him the promised land of so many 
day-dreams. 


CHAPTER XIII 


IN THE DEPTHS 

t'OR the first few miles the road ran parallel with 
the railway, but thereafter, when a wide expanse 
of shifting sands had to be traversed, it diverged to 
the south, seeking the hard ground nearer to the foot- 
hills. Bewildered, distressed in mind, ashamed of the 
sorry spectacle which, he knew well, even in the black 
obscurity of a moonless night, he now presented, on- 
ward Marsh Gordon trudged, following the wagon 
tracks, neither knowing nor caring where he went. 

The thought that kept ringing in his brain was — 
“ Penniless! Robbed of the tools by which I might 
have earned a bed or a meal ! My nakedness covered 
only by filthy rags! Even the blanket to shelter me 
gone! God above, was there ever a more complete 
wreck of humanity, a more hopeless down-and-outer 
than I now am ? ” 

To this benumbing sense of desolation and utter 
degradation soon came physical fatigue. He stumbled 
now as he walked, although the moon had risen to 
guide his footsteps. Suddenly, after a bend in the 
road that rounded a spur from the foothills, he cam$ 
upon a little patch of cultivation, with a good big hay- 
stack looming up on its farther margin. Toward this 
haven of rest he made his way. 

On the shadowy side of the stack he nearly fell over 
119 


120 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


a slumbering cow. Bossy, rudely awakened, struggled 
to her feet and, with an indignant moo, ambled away 
to a little distance whence she surveyed the intruder 
anxiously, after a time it might seem almost pityingly. 

Gordon’s old farmer-boy experience in Iowa now 
stood him in good stead. He touched with his hand 
the stubbly ground on which the animal had been re- 
posing — it was quite warm to his outspread palm. 
Gathering an armful of the sweet-smelling alfalfa he 
spread it on this precise patch, then brought further 
armfuls with which to cover himself. Thus was he 
provided with a snug couch, mattress and quilt com- 
plete, and within a very few minutes, utterly exhausted, 
the lonely one was asleep. 

All through the night his sleep was a procession of 
dreams. He dreamed of home and Miriam and his 
children; then his wandering mind was away back in 
Creston, and he was once again both selling and soling 
shoes ; next he was listening to the boom of the ocean 
at Venice-by-the-Sea; but out of the white surf came 
the repulsive forms of hoboes who flung their arms 
around him and, their leering faces close to his, began 
to strip him of his clothes. With a yell of fear he 
struggled to be free. 

He awoke to consciousness, flinging the alfalfa 
from around him, springing to his feet, rubbing his 
dazed eyes. For the sun had arisen and its flashing 
light had momentarily dazzled him. When he re- 
turned to a sense of his surroundings, he looked to 
right and left, and then behind him. 

There standing by the haystack, a small stool and a 
big pail in his hands, was a tall, broad-shouldered man 


IN THE DEPTHS 


121 


— evidently a rancher. He was surveying the ex- 
traordinary figure that had emerged from beneath the 
hay, in spellbound silence. 

“ Well, I’ll be damned/’ he exclaimed. But surprise 
soon changed to hilarity, and he laughed aloud. 

Gordon was dully conscious that he was the object 
of this explosive mirth. Instinctively he grabbed for 
his hat and jammed it down on his head as if thereby 
to give respectability to his appearance. But this 
added touch only served to accentuate the grotesque- 
ness of the scare-crow figure, and the rancher laughed 
louder and longer than before. 

Gathering his wits together, Gordon drew off the 
hat again and mournfully surveyed it. He remem- 
bered that the boss of the hoboes had called it a “ lid.” 
But any self-respecting pot or pan would have been 
ashamed of such a covering. It was greasy and mud- 
bedaubed, its tattered brim lopped like a rabbit’s ears, 
its crown was ventilated by a hole as big as a dollar. 
The head gear dropped from trembling fingers. 

“ Well, of all the funniest dudes I ever clapped eyes 
on, you’re the limit.” 

Gordon heard the softly drawled words. There 
was more of pity in them than of jest. Disconsolately 
he glanced down at his torn misfitting trousers, then 
holding forth his hands, surveyed the frayed streamers 
that were once the sleeves of a coat. 

“ I was stripped and robbed by hoboes last night,” 
he stammered by way of explanation, his face a picture 
of shame and misery. 

The last trace of merriment in the rancher’s eyes 
died out. 


122 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ The dirty blackguards ! ” he exclaimed. In his 
tone and look were commingled anger and sympathy — 
anger for the calloused wretches who could rob an old 
man, sympathy for the victim of the dastardly deed. 
“ They are vermin — simply vermin — and don’t de- 
serve to live. Oh, I’ve seen lots of them, but they 
know enough now to give my place a wide berth. The 
filthy swine ! ” 

Again he was running an eye over the forlorn and 
tattered figure. 

“ I wasn’t like this yesterday,” said Gordon, with 
returning courage. “ They held me up at their camp 
fire last night, and took my money, my blanket, even 
my clothes, my hat and shoes. I’m an honest man — 
I had my kit of cobbler’s tools with me — that, too, is 
gone. See, look at my hands. I am accustomed to 
mend shoes — not exactly a noble profession perhaps, 
but one that is useful and I thought would assist me 
in paying for a meal should I be hungry and come up 
with a gentleman like yourself on his little farm.” 

And by way of testimony to the truth of the earn- 
estly spoken words, Gordon held forth his fingers lined 
and blackened by the wax ends used in his trade. 

The rancher nodded understanding^. 

“ Oh, in spite of your queer rig, old fellow, I knew 
you were not one of the hobo breed. Well, sit down 
on the hay for a quarter of an hour — or go back to 
bed if you prefer it ” — the words were spoken with a 
grimly humorous smile — “ until I milk my cow. 
Then I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

The vagrant dropped down among the billowing hay, 
and watched in silence while his new-found friend ad- 


IN THE DEPTHS 


123 


vanced to the patiently standing cow, set down his 
stool, and adjusted his milk pail. The animal was a 
beautiful Jersey, white and brown, sleek-coated, mild- 
eyed, big-uddered. Gordon listened to the regular 
swish-swish of the descending stream. At last the 
operation was completed, and the rancher signalled to 
the homeless one to follow him. 

“ You can wash in that bucket,” he said, pointing to 
the article in question, standing beside a water tank 
made of corrugated iron. “ You’ll find a towel and a 
cake of soap on the post. I’ll cook some breakfast.” 

Gordon was left alone to his ablutions. He took off 
the coat he was wearing — he could hardly bring him- 
self to think of it as his coat, although it was assuredly 
his only coat now. He shook it carefully, and tore off 
a few of the tatters. Then he bathed his face and 
arms and shoulders, and began to feel a little like his 
old self again. 

“ How do you like your eggs cooked ? ” called out 
the rancher from the doorway. “ Fried on both sides 
or one eye open ? ” 

“ Both sides, please,” replied the guest for break- 
fast, making his choice simply because he did not com- 
prehend the alternative offer. 

“ Well, I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Step right in.” 

Gordon responded to the hearty invitation, and, leav- 
ing the coat and apology for a hat outside, entered the 
little wooden building. There could be no fault found 
with his undershirt — it was spotlessly white, of good 
material, every button in place. At least from the 
waist-line up he once more looked presentable. 

“ Sit down,” said his host, indicating a chair at the 


124 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


table. “You see this is a one-room mansion — 
kitchen and parlor combined; I sleep outside in the 
open. I’m homesteading here. Got a quarter sec- 
tion running up into that little box-canyon behind. 
There’s just enough water for a few head of stock 
and that patch of alfalfa where you dozed last night.” 

Gordon’s reply or comment was checked by a cough 
that lasted a few moments. The host continued : 

“ Oh, I’ve sized up your trouble — they call it bugs 
round about here.” 

“Bugs!” Gordon managed to articulate, wonder- 
ingly. 

“ Yes, microbes, T.B. — name it which you choose. 
I’m a bit of a lunger myself. Used to be president 
of a national bank down in Kansas, but developed con- 
sumption there, and was recommended to try the desert. 
As the bank happened to go bust about the same time 
owing to a succession of bad years, that suited my book 
all right. So I raked together my few surviving dol- 
lars, and came here. And it has proved a mighty good 
place for me. No more hemorrhages, no more cough- 
ing, and the doctor says I’ll be fit and well and perma- 
nently cured within another year. Then I guess I’ll 
sell out, and move into one of the towns in California 
or Arizona.” 

“ Go back to banking? ” 

“ Perhaps. So if ever you see the name of Mike 
O’Meara in gold letters on a plate glass window, with 
the word President underneath it, you will know that’s 
me. 

“ I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
O’Meara,” said the visitor, with a little bow. “ In 


IN THE DEPTHS 


125 


present circumstances I feel ashamed to give you my 
name.” 

“ Oh, well, we don’t take much stock of names on 
the desert anyways. So don’t you worry about that. 
Fall to, brother. You’ll find that ham just fine, and 
there are your eggs fried on both sides according to 
order. Coffee? Here you are, and I’ll be obliged if 
you help yourself to all the cream you can get away 
with. My old cow’s a dandy, and keeps me well sup- 
plied. And when you taste those hot corn cakes you’ll 
say I’m a dandy too — a dandy with the batter and 
griddle at all events.” 

Thus the genial and hospitable Irishman rambled on, 
putting his guest thoroughly at ease, encouraging him 
to eat and make himself at home. Gordon responded, 
for he was really weak from hunger, and the draughts 
of fresh milk which supplemented the coffee were like 
balm to his famished being. What with the plenteous 
feast and the kindly companionship all his woes were 
soon forgotten. At last he found himself smoking a 
brand-new corn-cob pipe presented to him by his host. 

“ Well,” remarked O’Meara, puffing away at a big 
briar-root, “ I’ve been figuring things out for you in 
my mind during breakfast. Sorry I can’t present you 
with a pair of trousers; you would lose yourself in one 
of my legs, I’m thinking.” The big burly Irishman 
laughed gently. “ But you can take that Mexican 
straw hat — you’ll look a bit better, and it’s the finest 
thing possible for the sun. You had best make for 
Yuma now, where you can fix yourself up with a new 
outfit of tools, and will be able, no doubt, to pick up 
a few jobs to tide you along till you can get some 


126 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


money from home. I’m going to hand you five dollars 
just for immediate requirements.” 

Gordon flushed and protested — he had never 
begged in all his lifetime. 

“Well, who says you’re begging now? Haven’t I 
told you that I’m a banker and accustomed to make 
loans? I’ve learned to read faces, and yours is good 
enough security for me. And now, as to how to get 
to Yuma. It so happens,” — he glanced at his watch 
— “ a wagon will be passing here in less than an hour’s 
time. It is hauling furniture for a rancher who’s a 
friend of mine down in the Imperial country, and is 
bringing out some canned stuff for me at the same 
time. So that will fit in with your plans fine. You 
can ride close on fifty miles of your way — two days’ 
journey. Then, where the Imperial road branches off, 
take the railway track and you’ll make Yuma in a few 
easy stages. Yuma will be a tip-top place for you — a 
year there will put that cough of yours to sleep, my 
friend. Now, I’m going to fix up a small supply of 
grub for you on the road, so that you’ll be ready for 
Dan and his wagon. And I guess I can find you an 
old blanket as well.” 

Tears of gratitude welled into Gordon’s eyes. But 
O’Meara only grew angry when any attempt to thank 
him was made. So the recipient of all his kindness 
lapsed into dutiful silence. What a change in his po- 
sition, he reflected, within the passing of a single night ! 

From the lowermost depths he was beginning to 
climb again. 

There was not only thankfulness, but renewed hope 
and courage in his heart, when an hour later Marsh 


IN THE DEPTHS 


127 


Gordon clambered up on to the seat beside the driver of 
the wagon, placed the obnoxious coat as a cushion to 
be sat upon for the present at all events, waved a final 
adieu to his generous host, and, his head protected 
by the most extraordinary hat he had ever seen, a tall 
cone-like structure of patterned straw in diversified 
colors, red, black, and yellow, started on his first stage 
into the blazing mid-day heat of the desert. 

As the wagon moved into the quivering haze 
O’Meara was laughing once more. 

“ That Mexican hat makes him look rummier than 
ever. But he’s a good sort all right. Poor old devil ! ” 

“ It’s a mighty kind world after all,” Gordon was 
murmuring to himself. The ruffianly hoboes were for- 
gotten ; the wrong had been blotted from memory and 
only the fragrance of kindness and hospitality re- 
mained. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


PLACE with several notable points, was Sub- 



marine Junction. In the first instance, it was 
more than two hundred feet below the level of the sea, 
away down in the sink of the Great Desert of the 
Colorado River. Secondly, it was called a junction 
although it was not a junction, for the railroad run- 
ning north to tap the fertile lands which border the 
mighty stream was as yet only in the surveyed stage 
of its existence. Then again it was reputed to be 
about the hottest place on earth in midsummer — if 
chickens survived until that season they laid hard- 
boiled eggs, so it was veraciously averred. 

A sunbaked, wayside railway station, with the regu- 
lation agent’s office, waiting room, goods shed and 
platform for handling freight, all on the most diminu- 
tive scale. But there were three huge round water 
tanks that were out of all proportion to the rest of the 
equipment and loomed as a landmark for a dqzen miles 
around. The abundant water supply was required for 
the replenishment of the locomotives which from this 
point of lowest depression had to climb the heavy 
grades, east and west, across the arid wilderness. 
These storage tanks in turn were kept filled with water 
brought in tank cars from the Colorado River. So 
water was water in those parts, and was held in the 


128 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


129 


respect it deserved. But there was unavoidably some 
little wastage that just sufficed to keep alive a row of 
scraggy, diminutive palms which some audacious hand 
had transplanted from one of the canyons among the 
foothills on the far southern horizon. 

Such was Submarine Junction. And here dwelt 
Ned Collier, alone, lord of all he surveyed, a gay and 
gallant youth of only eighteen, full of vim and energy 
despite the withering desert heat, proud of holding 
down his first job, that of station agent, filled with 
optimistic visions of the future when he would be pro- 
moted first of all as a train despatcher to Los Angeles, 
then to the executive offices in San Francisco, and 
finally to the exalted post of president of the entire 
railroad system. A happy, sanguine boy who was con- 
tent to whistle if he felt lonely or, when the wire 
wasn’t busy, jolly one of his brother telegraph oper- 
ators along the line. 

Ned was the son of a prominent attorney in Phoenix, 
Arizona. No name was better known throughout the 
state than that of Ledgerwood Collier, for the lawyer 
had spent a great deal of time and money in politics, 
his avowed ambition being the governorship, or, al- 
ternatively, a U. S. senatorship. Ned inherited his 
father’s keen brain and active temperament. The 
young fellow had been graduated from high school 
with all the honors, had spent six months in qualifying 
himself as an expert telegraph operator, and had then 
promptly accepted the first position that offered. 

Both father and mother had protested that life out 
on the desert, and more especially at Submarine Junc- 
tion, most lonely and God- forsaken of all desert spots, 


130 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


was not to be thought of. But Ned counted that he 
had his foot on the first rung of the ladder to success, 
and laughed at solitude, thermometers, tramps, coyotes, 
and rattlesnakes. He was thoroughly contented with 
himself, mightily pleased to have obtained a salaried 
appointment right at the start and by his own unaided 
efforts; and while city attractions might have their 
lure later on, for the present the desert and its free life, 
the daily duties to his hand, the sense of personal re- 
sponsibility, the immunity from being bossed by any- 
one, also the monthly pay check, all looked good to the 
young Arizonan. No more courageous spirit ever 
held down a telegraph key. 

The youthful station agent was fond of books, and 
between the scheduled hours of passing trains had 
plenty of time for reading them. He had also taken 
advantage of his position by homesteading one hundred 
and sixty acres close to the railway line, and had put 
up, mainly with his own hands, the modest little board 
shack that complied with the residential conditions of 
the law. There was talk of a high-line irrigation 
ditch being brought in before long. Therefore the 
land might prove of value some day, and meanwhile 
he had a place to call “ home,” also an abundance of 
occupation during off-duty hours in improving his 
property by vegetable gardening on the strictly limited 
scale rendered possible by a half-inch pipe that brought 
from over the way an occasional trickle of water from 
the overflow of the depot tanks. 

But if the onion bed did not exceed a couple of 
square yards in area, and the tomato vines could be 
counted on the fingers of both hands, tomatoes and 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


131 

onions that had to be so carefully wet-nursed to ma- 
turity were “ some vegetables/’ as Ned was wont to 
declare when slicing them for the salad bowl. More- 
over, their size and rapid growth proclaimed the fer- 
tility of his land — rich river silt that required only 
the magic touch of water to make it exude with pro- 
ductivity. 

Thus the truck-gardening helped to pass the time in 
an interesting way, and Ned’s life had grown to be 
quite a full one. For the desert is really lonely only 
to those who make it lonely; the companionship of 
work or books need leave no hour dull. 

It was late afternoon, and Ned had just aroused 
himself from the siesta which the desert climate in 
summer time renders both agreeable and advisable. 
He was standing on the veranda of his little home, 
casting an eye at the railway office only a stone-throw 
away. He was debating with himself whether he 
would cross over and get ready the waybills for a 
wagon load of wool that had been brought in by a 
rancher from up the valley and was to be shipped out 
by an early morning freight train. Or would he take 
it easy yet awhile and perform his task in the cool of 
the evening? It wanted only an hour now of sun- 
down. 

To verify this estimate of the time he turned his 
eyes westward. There, coming along the railroad 
track, perhaps three or four hundred yards away, was 
the figure of a man. Not a hobo — the hobo sticks to 
a shady spot during the heat of the day. Most likely 
a Mexican, to judge by the hat he was wearing. But 
one thing was certain as the figure drew nearer — the 


132 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


man was pretty nearly all in, for as he walked he reeled 
from side to side of the track like a drunken man. 
Ned was too experienced to imagine for a moment 
that the man was drunk — an inebriate could not have 
survived for an hour the torrid heat of the desert on 
such an afternoon. It was a case of thirst, that was 
clear. 

And just as Ned had swiftly arrived at this con- 
clusion the figure stumbled, fell prone, and remained 
where it had fallen. In a trice the young fellow had 
reached for the canvas water bag hanging at the door- 
way, and was sprinting for all he was worth across the 
sand and then along the ties. 

Ned turned the figure over. The man was alive all 
right — just thoroughly exhausted, and in need of 
water too, for his first act was to raise his finger tips 
to parched lips. The rescuer lost no time in asking 
questions. He just lifted the sufferer’s head, and sup- 
porting his shoulders held the water-bag to his mouth. 
A murnjur of thankfulness mingled with the gulping 
of the grateful fluid. 

A minute or two later the boy had the man upon his 
feet, and slipping an arm around his waist, was help- 
ing him along. He had carefully replaced the big 
conical Mexican hat on the wayfarer’s head. The 
lean hands were again extended for the water-bag. 

“ No, that’s enough for the present, old fellow. Oh, 
you’ll have another drink later on. What you’ve got 
to do next is to get out of the sun. Why in the name 
of wild cats did you try to cross the desert in the day- 
time ? You must be a pretty green hand. There now, 
steady. Stretch yourself out on this chair; let me fix 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


133 


the pillow for you. Yes, here’s more water now — in 
a tumbler this time. Feeling better, eh?” 

These sentences had been interjected at intervals 
while stumbling footsteps were being guided from the 
tracks to the shack, until finally the rescued man had 
been placed upon a long rattan chair under the shade 
of the veranda. 

“ Thank you, kindly,” the stranger at last managed 
to articulate. But he was too weak and fatigued for 
the present to say more. His eyes closed from weari- 
ness. 

Ned gave him a little time longer to recover, re- 
maining silent, cutting at his tobacco plug meanwhile 
and filling his pipe. Through the puffs of smoke he 
surveyed the recumbent figure. A down-and-outer, 
assuredly, to judge from the sparse and ragged gar- 
ments — no coat or shirt, tattered breeches, and broken 
shoes. But not a dyed-in-the-wool hobo, for the bare 
arms were heat-blistered, not sun-browned — they had 
been white arms only a day or so before. And the 
face, although unshaven, was that of a clean liver — 
with clear-cut features, really quite intellectual looking 
with the high -domed brow. Ned, too, had no diffi- 
culty in guessing what the tall gaunt framework of 
bones really meant. 

“ Out for the desert cure, I suppose,” he murmured 
to himself. “ And by the Lord he nearly got it, good 
and plenty, for all time. He couldn’t have made an- 
other hundred yards. A cup of tea is just about the 
right thing for him. If he gets a nap, too, so much 
the better.” 

Ned rose, and, moving on tiptoe, entered the cabin. 


134 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Within a minute he had the oil-stove alight and had 
filled a kettle of water from the big red earthenware 
olla standing in a corner of the room. 

A little later the warm brew of tea revived the pa- 
tient wonderfully. The stranger sat sideways on the 
long chair as he sipped the refreshing beverage. He 
smiled gratefully toward his host. Ned’s first im- 
pressions were confirmed ; he liked the old chap’s face. 

“ You certainly saved my life,” said the visitor. 
“ I was almost done — it was a close call.” 

“ Oh, you’d have made it, I guess, with the water 
tanks sticking up in front of you,” replied Ned cheer- 
fully. “ But what beats me is how you came to be 
out on the desert without a canteen.” 

“ I had a small canteen, which my friend the 
wagoner gave me at parting. But I emptied it, then 
lost it, together with the coat I was carrying over my 
arm.” 

“ I understand. When a fellow gets thirsty on the 
desert his first impulse is to fling every superfluous 
thing away — there are cases, I’m told, where they 
have stripped themselves naked. But how did you 
come to hit the ties, anyway? You’re no hobo.” 

“No; thank God, I’m not a hobo.” The speaker 
drew himself proudly up, and there was supreme dis- 
gust and disdain on his quivering features as he spoke 
the words. “ Yet, would you believe, my dear lad, 
until a few days ago I had succeeded in convincing 
myself that the hobo’s lot is the ideal one? As the old 
song says : ‘ Homeless, ragged, and tanned, who so free 
in the land, who so contented ’ — as the tramp without 
a care to worry him? ” 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


135 


“ So you tried the game? ” grinned Ned. 

“ I came out onto the desert to try to recover my 
health. You can see what I am reduced to — mere 
skin and bone. I don’t need to tell you my trouble. 
But many cases of tuberculosis have been cured by 
desert air, and I resolved to try the remedy.” 

“Then did you outfit as a hobo? Those trousers 
and shoes have all the earmarks of the tribe.” 

“ No, sir. It was a gang of hoboes who outfitted 
me. The other night at a camp fire they robbed me of 
all my belongings — even stripped me of my clothes.” 

Ned uttered a low whistle of comprehension. The 
fist resting on his knee closed tightly. His eyes looked 
pityingly on the old man, whose lips were trembling 
now from the shame and humiliation of the memories 
invoked by the telling of his tale. 

“ The damned scoundrels ! ” muttered the youth. 
“ But by the living God I’ll get level with some of them 
for this. In future any brake-beam tourist my eyes 
light upon will take the sand trail from Submarine 
Junction on. I’ll make this a railroad terminus for the 
dirty skunks, though up to now I’ve always felt in- 
clined to pass ’em along.” 

The object of this mingled indignation and com- 
miseration sipped his tea reflectively. 

“ Well, there are good men as well as bad men on 
the desert,” was the quiet remark. “ I’ve found that 
out already — am finding it out now, my kind young 
friend.” 

There was tremulous gratitude in the voice, a soft 
glow in the eyes that looked across at the boy who had 
succored and welcomed the wanderer. 


136 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Good Lord, what Fve done is nothing,’’ objected 
Ned. “ Do you think that I could have stood by and 
seen you perish? Besides what are people good for 
anyhow but to give each other the helping hand? I 
guess I was intended to do you a good turn — to help 
you out of your present troubles, old chap. And the 
present troubles are always the worst ones, aren’t 
they? — although as a matter of fact yours don’t 
amount to a hill of beans. I’ve got an old suit that 
will just fit you fine, and though I’d counted it past 
further wear you’ll feel yourself in Sunday-go-to-meet- 
ing clothes as compared with your present togs. Your 
hat’s all right — I’ll say that much,” he added reflec- 
tively, pointing to the conical headgear resting on the 
floor beside the chair. “ Let me tell you that it prob- 
ably saved your life, my friend.” 

“ It was a gift to me from a kind-hearted rancher.” 

“ Well, the rancher knew what was needed. You 
can’t beat a Mexican straw hat out on the desert — or 
for the matter of that lots of other Mexican things, too 
— their ollas, tortillas , frijoles , even their siestas. 
Those old Spaniards certainly knew the whole game of 
eating, drinking, and sleeping — of living the life. 
Isn’t that so? ” 

As he put the question, the boy leaned back in his 
chair, stuck his thumbs in his braces, and puffed out 
his chest complacently. He knew the life — he knew 
what he was talking about. Gesture and attitude spoke 
just as eloquently as words. 

A faint little smile played upon the stranger’s face. 

“ I am acquainted with the Spanish terms you have 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


137 


used,” he replied, “ but I have not had much actual 
experience of the desert.” 

“ Oh, well,” laughed Ned, “ I’ll help you to plenty 
of experience, don’t you worry. Gee, it’s good to have 
you here — to have somebody worth while to speak to. 
I know right now that we’re going to be great friends, 
Jim — regular pals.” 

The prospective pal raised his eyes in some surprise 
at the name bestowed, but the gay-hearted youngster 
gave no chance for interruption. He rattled on, 
volubly : 

“ Well, to get back to the clothes question. We had 
settled about the suit and O.K’d your hat. Next, as 
to shoes — you can have your pick from half-a-dozen 
pairs, Jim. You see I’ve always had a weakness for 
shoes, and keep myself well supplied. So after you’ve 
had a few days’ rest you can hit the trail again in re- 
spectable style. I’ll be able to get you a ride in the 
caboose of a freight. Oh, I’ve lots of friends among 
the train crews, old boy.” 

The thanks struggling to the stranger’s lips were 
checked by an attack of coughing. He tried to 
smother it with his hand. Ned went on : 

“ But you’ve got to get rid of that cough of yours, 
Jim.” 

“ Excuse me, my name is Marsh ” — but the words 
were cut short by a renewed paroxysm. 

“ Jim Marshall — that sounds a good name,” the 
boy replied. “ Well, mine’s Ned Collier. But it will 
be Jim and Ned for short — sort o’ makes us pals from 
the start, eh? Well, Jim, you must be doggoned hun- 


138 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


gry, I’m thinking. So if you just stretch out your 
legs again, shut your peepers, and have another little 
snooze, I’ll be getting the supper ready.” 

“ Can’t I help? ” suggested the visitor. 

“ Oh, your help will be called for later on, when the 
grub is ready. You’re in luck, I can tell you. The 
westbound mail brought me a fine porterhouse steak 
this morning — from Yuma.” 

“ That’s where I am going.” 

“ Well, it’s here you’re staying for the present at all 
events, Jim, my friend. There, make yourself com- 
fortable. And here’s a newspaper only one day old. 
Oh, don’t thank me. The luck is mine. I can tell you 
I was beginning to feel so derned lonesome that some- 
times I almost hollered aloud. So count yourself a 
welcome guest — welcome as the flowers in spring. 
I’ll wake you fifteen minutes before supper-time so 
that you can have a wash. Perhaps also you’d like a 
shave. I can lend you a safety razor. My sweet little 
mother sent me one for a birthday present, but I stick 
to the good old-fashioned blade ” — the mere boy 
looked very manly and consequential as he spoke the 
words. “ No lawn mowers for me, thank you. But 
perhaps you, too, object, Jim.” 

“ No, no,” murmured Jim — the name seemed to fit 
all right now, for its owner attempted no further pro- 
test. “ I’m accustomed to a safety razor.” 

“ Well, that’s good. I’ll dig it up after I get the 
wood-stove alight. Grilled beefsteak, my boy — no 
frying on an oil-stove for such a rare luxury ! So get 
your appetite ready. The sun’s down, and it will be 


A YOUTHFUL OPTIMIST 


139 


fine and cool within an hour. Then we’ll have a proper 
old yarn — after dinner, under the stars.” 

The joyous youth vanished. Marsh Gordon closed 
his eyes in restful thankfulness. 


CHAPTER XV 


REHABILITATION 

P ERPIAPS an hour had passed. Jim — to give 
Marsh Gordon the new name his youthful host had 
so persistently fastened on him — had reposed, and 
occasionally dozed, on the veranda. Within the shack 
Ned had been busy over the mysteries of cooking. 
He never took such pains when he was alone. But to- 
night he seemed determined to impress his guest — all 
the resources of both his larder and his skill were being 
called into requisition. 

When preliminary preparations were completed, and 
the cooking of the meal was proceeding automatically, 
Ned consulted his wardrobe, selected a suit that was 
partially worn but still more than serviceable, a khaki 
shirt of the regulation desert pattern, and a pair of 
shoes without flaw in their anatomy. To this little 
pile of clothing he added a towel and a cake of soap. 

He peeped onto the veranda ; his visitor was awake. 
“ See here, Jim,” he said, advancing with the gar- 
ments in his hand, “ if you want a bath and a change 
before dinner, now’s your chance. Oh, I can give you 
the finest shower you ever saw. Just step over to the 
depot, get under one of the water tanks, turn the 
spigot, and there you are. But take care to leave a 
little water for the Los Angeles Limited — it’s due here 
140 


REHABILITATION 


141 

at 9 :i4 p. m. Go ahead, and don’t be shy. There are 
no Peeping Toms in this wilderness. By the time you 
get back that porterhouse will be done to a turn. Or 
if you hurry up there will be time, too, for a shave.” 

The razor — yes, he was ready for Ned’s despised 
“ lawn-mower,” and in the zeal of his regeneration he 
swept away not only the stubble that covered cheeks 
and chin but his mustache as well. He had never be- 
fore ventured upon such an audacious alteration in his 
accustomed appearance. If he had sometimes thought 
of getting into line with modem ideas as to unnecessary 
hirsute adornments, the thought had been dismissed in 
favor of the conservative traditions of young days. 
But tonight he was free from all such trammels of 
habit, and lo and behold! when the safety razor had 
accomplished its full task he stood forth clean-shaven 
as an old-time Roman. As he looked into the mirror 
he himself was amazed at the result. The seemingly 
slight change had in reality amounted to a transfor- 
mation. Marsh Gordon hardly recognized himself. 
“Jim” certainly seemed to be the appropriate new 
name from now onward. 

The feeling of physical rehabilitation had a mental 
reaction as well. After all his miseries and humili- 
ations self-respect was restored. Mike O’Meara’s sil- 
ver dollars jingled in his pocket — borrowed money, 
no doubt, but tangible and bestowing the confidence 
that comes from actual possession. It was with a 
glow of satisfaction that he took his place at the hos- 
pitable board. 

Whereupon the gay-hearted lad proceeded to play 
the part of host. With his merry blue eyes, a wealth 


142 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


of black curly hair, and cheeks tinged with the roses of 
perfect health, he indeed formed a striking contrast to 
his lean-visaged guest on the opposite side of the table. 

But Jim’s old haggard look was now gone. From 
his deep-set eyes there beamed a soft glow of thorough 
contentment. He ate with quiet appreciation of the 
good things provided, and at the same time listened 
with a happy smile to Ned’s irrepressible flow of con- 
versation. 

From this he learned incidentally how the boy’s 
mother contrived to keep the desert larder supplied 
with delicacies. The pumpkin pie had arrived from 
Phoenix the night before, together with a couple of 
dozen of fresh-laid eggs — “ those beauties in the bowl 
over yonder.” And there was a special turkey being 
fattened on the home place for Thanksgiving, which 
would arrive in due season stuffed, cooked, and ready 
for the table. 

“ You certainly have a kind, thoughtful mother,” 
commented Jim. 

“ The best and dearest ever ! ” assented Ned enthusi- 
astically. “ And the dad’s a rare good sport too. 
You know he’s the top-notch lawyer in all Arizona. 
So the old man, of course, wanted me to get into the law 
business with him. But nothing doing! My mind 
had always been set on railroading. And do you know 
how I got my job here, Jim? Well, I just told the 
staff operator that I wasn’t afraid of all the coyotes 
or wild cats or rattlesnakes in Southern California, 
and if he wanted a real unscalped brave to hold the 
fort at Submarine Junction and tap the keys between 
whiles, I was his Huckleberry.” 


REHABILITATION 


143 


Jim could not but laugh in unison — the boy’s over- 
flowing good spirits were irresistibly captivating. 
Here was a psychological problem presented. Was it 
not just such indomitable souls who were conquering 
the wilderness and transforming the grim desert into 
smiling farms and orchard lands? 

“ You are the very man for the job, Ned,” he com- 
mented. 

“ That’s just what I said — the very man” — the 
phrase appealed to him, and he patted his chest ap- 
preciatively. “ So the job was mine, and I defy any 
operator on the line to get it away from me. There’s 
just one danger, though. Promotion! It’s sticking 
out its head from behind every Joshua tree on the 
desert. Oh, believe me, all the railroad bosses have at 
last got their eye on Ned Collier, from the president 
down. Then what will become of my 160-acre home- 
stead? But, say, Jim, I’ve an idea. Why not stay 
on here? I’ll teach you the Morse alphabet. Who 
knows but you might get my job when the manage- 
ment finds it can no longer do without me in Los An- 
geles or San Francisco?” 

Jim smiled wistfully. 

“ I’m afraid that would be a big undertaking for a 
man of my years.” 

“ Don’t speak about years. A woman is just as old 
as she looks, but a man is only as old as he feels. And 
now I’ve a sort of hunch that this is the very climate 
for you, my friend. You haven’t coughed once since 
we sat down to supper. Have you noticed that ? 
Well, if you haven’t, I have. And I’d bet you used 
to cough your head off most of the time.” 


144 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Jim assented with a nod. 

“ That is true,” he remarked. “ I am already begin- 
ning to feel the good effects of the desert climate.” 

“Of course you do. That thorough baking you 
got today out in the sun will have done you no end of 
good in the long run. It’s the sort of thing to paralyze 
the microbes in your lungs. From now you’ll improve 
right along.” 

“ Oh, I’ve made up my mind to get well, my dear 
boy,” replied the invalid with a bright smile. 

“ Which is half the cure,” exclaimed Ned, enthusi- 
astically. “ Now then, let me see.” He consulted his 
watch. “ I must go over to the station, Jim. The 
Los Angeles express will be here within fifteen min- 
utes. She stops for water. Then I’ve some waybills 
to make out for an early freight in the morning. 
Would you like to step across? Will help to pass the 
time.” 

Jim surveyed the supper table, and a light came into 
his eye. “ If you don’t mind,” he replied, “ I think 
I’ll wait for you here.” 

“ All right, old chap. Have another rest — that's 
the best thing. But don’t go to sleep. I’ve lots of 
more things to tell you tonight before we turn in. I 
haven’t had a good old-fashioned yarn with anyone for 
a month past. So long, then. Have a look at my 
books. There’s McClintock’s ‘ History of Arizona ’ — 
just great — will interest you, sure. Make yourself at 
home.” 

But Marsh Gordon had other plans for the hour at 
his disposal. He merely glanced at the title page of 
the proffered volume, then replaced it on the bookshelf 


REHABILITATION 


145 


for the present, at all events. He filled a big kettle 
with water, and put it on the stove, after replenishing 
the latter with a couple of small logs. 

While waiting for the water to boil, he stepped onto 
the veranda. In the near distance now he could hear 
the rumble of the incoming train. As the big head- 
light swept forward, toward the very spot where Ned 
Collier had rescued him, he reflected that, had it not 
been for the providential succor that had reached him 
just as he was perishing from thirst, even now his body 
would be being ground to pieces under the big wheels. 
He shuddered at the thought. But it made the lad 
still dearer to him. 

“ God bless the boy,” he murmured. “ He has not 
only fed and clothed m,e but he has also restored to 
me my self-respect — given me a new hold on life, so 
tQ speak. Now I must see what I can do for him.” 

However, he lingered on the veranda yet awhile, 
watching the train as it pulled in, the big locomotives 
taking water from the tanks, and then the resumption 
of the throbbing journey up the steep eastward grade. 
The station was quiet once again, the whole place in 
darkness except for the gleam of the signal lamps and 
the glow of a light from the window of the little sta- 
tion office. 

There Ned had settled down to his clerical duties. 
He was tapping cheerfully away at a typewriting ma- 
chine, whistling at times while he filled up the official 
blanks with the descriptions and weights of the freight 
accumulated for dispatch in the morning. 

At last his tasks were completed. He put out the 
light, locked the office door, and after a final survey 


146 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


up and down the line started across the way for home. 

Jim was not on the veranda, but the lamp was still 
alight in the living-room. 

At the threshold Ned stood stock still from amaze* 
ment. 

“ Jim! ” was the only word he uttered. 

The room was a marvel of neatness and orderliness, 
the debris of the meal all cleared away, every dish 
washed and restored to its proper place, pots and pans 
burnished and hung on the wall behind the stove, the 
stove itself polished as it had never been polished be* 
fore, at least in Ned’s days; even the wash cloth and 
drying towels had been rinsed out and were hung in a 
corner across a stretch of string. 

The worker of all this change was in the act of roll* 
ing down his shirt sleeves, thankful that the job was 
finished before Ned’s return, smiling a pleasant wel- 
come home. 

“Jim!” Ned again exclaimed. “You shouldn’t 
have done all this, old boy.” 

“Could I have done less?” responded Jim, laying 
a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “ But for you, my dear 
Ned, the coyotes tonight would be picking my bones. 
And a mighty skimp meal,” he laughed grimly. “ Not 
much more than rags and bones. So even a coyote 
has at times its cruel disappointments, eh? Well, I 
managed to keep awake, you see. And now we’ll have 
that promised yarn — under God’s own bright stars.”" 



NED RESCUES MARSH GORDON 



























































9 












































■ 

. 






























































CHAPTER XVI 


REJUVENATION 

44 1DY JOVE, I wouldn’t have believed it’s three 
whole months since you blew in, Jim. It seems 
more like three days.” 

The speaker was Ned Collier. Jim and he were in 
the office at the railway station. It was night. The 
lamp was alight. They were waiting for the passing 
of the eastward-bound express. 

“ The shortest three months in my whole existence,” 
commented Jim. He was seated before a telegraph 
instrument, and was tapping away at the keys while he 
spoke, repeating again and again some special combi- 
nation of dots and dashes. “ And useful ones, too,” 
Jim went on, “ I really believe I’ll be an expert oper- 
ator before long.” 

“ I’m certain of it, old boy. I never saw a quicker 
pupil. You’re a wonder. The way you keep stick- 
ing to that Morse alphabet, you’ll have every letter, 
sign, and symbol at the ends of your fingers before an- 
other three months have gone. You’re sure the chap 
that put * p ’ into ‘ pluck,’ because you have got the 
right sort of pluck in you. And say, Jim, do you 
know I’m beginning to feel like a living fraud? ” 

“ How’s that?” 

“ Well, just look at this bunch of waybills you got 
147 


148 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


ready this afternoon. You’re the station agent right 
now — I’m a sort of looker on.” 

“ What nonsense ! And don’t forget how mighty 
kTd you have been in teaching me all I know. I used 
to consider myself a down-and-outer before I came 
here, but I do believe I could hold a job now against a 
good few young fellows in the railway service.” 

“ You bet, and give most of them points, too. And 
you know, Jim, you look a different man. What did 
you weigh before you came here? ” 

“ Ninety-one pounds — of skin and bone,” replied 
Jim, with a grim smile of reminiscence. 

“ Well, say, let’s put you on the scales now, Jim.” 
As Ned spoke he advanced to the open door. “ Come 
along.” 

The other complied, and a minute later the two 
were in front of the scales on the freight platform. 
Ned, with the aid of a lantern, was adjusting the 
weights. 

“ Hop on,” he said laconically when all was ready. 

After sliding the movable weight a little distance, he 
raised the lantern and announced the result. 

“ One hundred and six pounds. Good for you, Jim. 
That’s going some. Let’s see — a gain of fifteen 
pounds in three months’ time.” 

“ It’s wonderful,” remarked Jim. The desert has 
certainly proved my salvation/” 

“ And you never cough now. Guess the hot air 
has just dried out those lungs of yours fine. You’re 
as good as ever, sporty. Wait a moment now. I’ll 
weigh myself, too. Around one hundred and thirty 
•pounds, I reckon. Steady, there. By gosh, one hun- 


REJUVENATION 


149 

dred and thirty-three. I’m piling on a pound or two 
myself every week, Jim.” 

“ You’re still growing, Ned. You’ll be taller than 
I am by the time you’re twenty. It will be you who 
will be having the high water pants when you come to 
wear a pair of mine, old man.” With a laugh, Jim, 
raising a foot, surveyed the somewhat imperfectly 
clothed ankle. 

“ We’ll have to get you a suit of tailor-mades,” re- 
sponded the boy merrily, “ if you keep on increasing 
your waist line at the rate you’re doing now. You’ll 
be fat, positively fat, Jim, by Christmas. I’ll have to 
put you into training — get your muscles hard as nails, 
like mine.” He stretched forth his arms so as to dis- 
play their well-developed biceps. “ For myself, I don’t 
want to be too tall. It’s chest measurement that 
counts ” — this as he folded his arms across his breast 
complacently. “ I’m glad to be of the proper athletic 
build. Wait till I get to Los Angeles — I’m going to 
teach them a few things down there, how to tackle in 
football, for instance.” 

They had descended from the freight platform, and 
were moving back toward the office. Ned rambled on : 

“ But, gee whizz, that promotion’s a bit long in com- 
ing, isn’t it? I sometimes begin to fear the president 
of the road must have forgotten me.” 

“ Or perhaps they can’t find any one else capable of 
filling your shoes here, Ned,” suggested his friend. 

“ That’s possible — probable, too, when you come to 
think of it. There are not many candidates for the 
station agent’s job at Submarine Junction, eh, Jim? 
But that’s all right ; I’m glad to be nursing it a while 


150 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


for you, old boy. Only a little longer, and they won’t 
be able to pass you over, that’s a cinch. You already 
know all the ropes here, Jim. In fact, you’re the only 
competent man I could name to take my place. When 
you’ve had just another thirty or sixty days’ practice 
at the keys, I’m going to wake the bosses up, remind 
them that I’m in line for promotion, and at the same 
time insist on nominating my successor. That’s the 
dope, Jim, both for you and for me. They’ll be 
readier to let me out from here when they know you’re 
on the spot to take over things. And that reminds me 
about the land.” 

They were again seated in the office by now and 
corn-cobs were alight. 

“Why worry about the land?” asked Jim, as he 
tossed away the match he had been using. “ Can’t I 
look after it for you? ” 

“ Impossible. If a homestead claim is vacated, it is 
lost — forfeited back to the government. The next 
fellow can jump in and take possession. But I’ve been 
studying up the law a bit. I can sign a relinquishment 
and the very moment it goes into the land office you 
can file on the quarter section. This won’t give any 
interloper the chance to get in and cut you out. I 
would hate to see the land go to a stranger, Jim; for 
while it ain’t worth a dollar an acre today, there’s just 
the gambling chance that it will be worth something 
later on when the high-line canal comes in. But I’m 
beginning to doubt that project. Seems more remote 
than ever. Guess we’ll both be in our graves, old 
chap, long before there is flowing water at Submarine.” 

“ Oh, I’m not so sure about that. I’ve looked over 


REJUVENATION 


151 

this country pretty thoroughly. I can see with half 
an eye 'that there are no real engineering difficulties. 
Then the soil is great — just great. It looks like sand 
but is really rich silt. With water it will be able to 
grow anything.” 

“ No doubt. And without water it can grow noth- 
ing but sage and cactus. All the same, Jim, as I said 
before, it will be good to hold on to that 160-acre tract. 
I’ve half a mind to get one of the operators at San 
Bernardino to send me up a relinquishment form right 
now.” 

“ Why the hurry ? ” 

“ Because who knows when I mayn’t be hitting the 
trail, old scout? Oh, make no mistake. Los Angeles 
is a-calling me. Some fine morning they’ll be waking 
up there to find that they -can’t run things any longer 
without the assistance of yours truly, Ned Collier. So 
it will be best to have matters fixed just right, well 
ahead of time. You’ll have to run down to San Ber- 
nardino — that’s where the Government Land offices 
are — deposit my relinquishment, and then get in your 
own filing without a minute’s delay. Only a small fee 
to pay, and the thing’s done.” 

“ Well, but I’m going to insist that you remain half 
owner of the land.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” 

“ Why nonsense ? ” 

“ First of all, there can be no collusion in taking up 
Government land. A relinquishment is a relinquish- 
ment — it must be for good, with no underground 
agreements. You’re not going to catch me bucking the 
law against Uncle Sam, not on your sweet life, old boy, 


152 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


even to gratify your generous whim. But apart from 
that, do you for a moment imagine, Jim, that I’m going 
to bother about such things when I get to Los An- 
geles — that I, Ned Collier, head train dispatcher and 
right in line for the president’s chair, am going to 
worry over a miserable quarter section of desert scrub 
not worth in spot cash today a ten-dollar bill?” 

The listener smiled, but did not interrupt. Ned 
went on: 

“ Besides it’s only the fellow who sticks to the God- 
forsaken patch of wilderness that holds any rights at 
all. The place suits your health, pal; you say you’re 
going to hold on after I leave if you get the station 
agent’s job, and I’m going to see that you get it, that’s 
a cinch. Oh, I’ve a bit of influence at headquarters, 
don’t you forget it. So it’s quite likely you’ll be at 
Submarine for the next ten or a dozen years, and the 
high-line canal will surely be here by then. And, holy 
smoke, you’ll have earned every acre of the land long 
before that time, out here in the sizzling heat. I’d 
like to know where any half interest for me would 
come in.” 

“ That’s how I regard it all the same,” persisted Jim. 

“Well, forget it, my boy. Hallo; here she comes 
at last.” Ned rose, and was looking at his watch ; far 
away could be heard the faint rumble of the incoming 
train. “ Ten minutes late. That’s mighty unusual. 
I’ll try and get a newspaper, Jim. Then we’ll hike for 
home.” 

Jim, true to the habits of a lifetime, began to 
straighten things in the office before locking up for 


REJUVENATION 153 

the night. Ned meanwhile had strolled onto the plat- 
form, lantern in hand. 

Only a few minutes of delay for watering, and then 
the train had resumed its journey toward the east. 
The two comrades, again alone on the desert, sauntered 
across the narrow belt of scrub and sand. 

When the lamp had been lit Ned’s eyes glanced 
around. 

“ My word, Jim, what a difference you have made 
in this old shack,” he remarked appreciatively. “ Do 
you remember what a pig-sty it was when you first 
showed up here ? Everything lying around — mud 
and dirt everywhere — half the dishes permanently 
unwashed — pots and pans a fright, the stove a night- 
mare. Now we might be having a lady housekeeper. 
A place for everything and everything in its place. I 
remember when first you uttered that dictum, old fel- 
low. But certainly you’ve given me a few wrinkles. 
Never knew before how to twist a Sunday newspaper 
into a clothes hanger with a bit of string for the hook,” 
Ned went on, laughing, as he hung his jacket on the 
indicated article of convenience. 

“What’s it to be tonight, Jim?” he resumed, 
seating himself on a chair. “ Some reading aloud, eh? 
Shall we finish Byron’s 'Prisoner of Chillon’? Or 
am I supposed to put in another hour’s study over 
Brewster’s 'Traffic and Traffic Management’? By 
jove, Jim, since you came here I’ve been able to do 
more solid reading in three months than I ever did 
before in three years. You’re a veritable encyclo- 
pedia of knowledge, I’ve always said. Well, I’m fast 


154 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


becoming at least an abridged edition, old boy — at 
least in my particular line. Can’t teach me much 
about railroading, can they? Now I’ve read that row 
of technical volumes on the shelf, eh? Good biz! I 
guess I’ll be able to give the bosses in Los Angeles 
some pointers. But there, I clean forgot the news- 
paper.” On entering he had laid it down on the table, 
and now reached forth his hand. “ This morning’s 
date. Wonder how the old world is jogging along. 
Hallo ! What’s this ? Picture on the front page — 
a good looking female, that. And her hubby’s been 
eaten up by coyotes. Another desert tragedy.” 

He had unfolded the paper, and was glancing at the 
page. He continued to summarize the news for Jim’s 
benefit. 

“ Up in Death Valley. The same old story. Death 
from thirst, and the coyotes to finish up things. His 
wife identified him by his coat and a little gun-metal 
watch with an inscription inside — M. G. from Miriam. 
But Miriam don’t look very down-hearted all the same. 
Bit of an artist, with her palette and paint brushes. 
But, by Jove, the wee girl’s pretty! Bessie Gordon, 
the dead man’s younger daughter.” 

Jim had been listening dumbfounded and speech- 
less, his muscles tense and taut, only his underlip quiv- 
ering. But Ned did not notice his agitation. He had 
turned over the page, and was starting on another news 
item — something about the never-ending troubles in 
Mexico. 

But Jim was not listening. He was thinking — 
thinking — thinking. So Marsh Gordon was dead — 
dead to his little old world at all events. He wanted 


REJUVENATION 


155 


to read every word of the story. But he had now re- 
gained full command of himself — there must be no 
premature self-betrayal. A little later Ned would 
voluntarily relinquish the newspaper. The story could 
wait. So Jim, with face averted, waited too. 

Ned at last was satisfied. 

“No news worth a hang/’ he remarked as he tossed 
away the journal. “ Guess I’ll tackle Brewster.” 

He moved to the bookshelf and pulled forth one of 
the volumes from among the row of technical treatises. 

“ Then, if you don’t mind,” murmured Jim, “ I’ll 
light the lamp on the veranda and glance through the 
newspaper before I turn in.” 

“ Liberty hall, old chap. Submarine Villa is all 
your own. But I expect you’ll be asleep long before I, 
the studious one, have ceased from burning the mid- 
night oil. So, good night, my dear Jim.” 

“ Good night; ” and Jim stole away, the newspaper 
clutched in his hand. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE PASSING OF MARSH GORDON 

\X7 ITH a dull, sickening feeling at the heart, Jim 
* * read every word of the newspaper story about 
the latest desert tragedy. He was oppressed by the 
thought that the end might have come to him — eaten 
by coyotes ! — just as it had come to the unfortunate 
hobo who had been wearing his stolen coat and watch. 

The body, or what remained of it, had been found 
at the southern end of Death Valley by a team making 
for Daggett. The man had obviously perished from 
thirst, and the coyotes had picked his bones — picked 
them with a thoroughness characteristic of the coyote 
tribe. What garments could be collected were brought 
in for identification purposes, together with the little 
gun-metal watch found in one of the pockets. The 
coat bore the label of a store in Creston, Iowa, a clue 
that eventually established its former ownership and 
the location of surviving relatives. 

So when Mrs. Marsh Gordon, notified by the au- 
thorities, had come from Venice-by-the-Sea to Daggett, 
recognized the coat as the one worn by her husband 
when he left home three months previously, and ex- 
actly described the watch he was carrying, bearing his 
initials and her own name engraved within the case, 
the proof of Marsh Gordon’s death on the desert had 
been held to be final and conclusive. 

156 


THE PASSING OF MARSH GORDON 157 


Here the tragedy part of the story ended. But 
there was a great deal more about the widow and her 
family — the recent marriage of Bernice to the bril- 
liant young attorney, Burn Hopkins ; the musical abili- 
ties of the younger daughter, Bessie; the high artistic 
attainments of the mother herself, whose china paint- 
ing was already gaining for her a wide and rapidly ex- 
tending reputation. Mrs. Marsh Gordon, formerly of 
Wellesley, Massachusetts — in this connection there 
was no reference to Creston, Iowa — was hailed as a 
distinct acquisition to art circles in Southern Califor- 
nia, where already also she was interesting herself in 
social activities and taking a distinguished place as a 
leader of the higher culture. The picture reproduced 
with her kind permission showed the lady in her studio 
at Venice-by-the-Sea, and the smaller cuts were from 
recent photographs of her two charming young daugh- 
ters. 

The dead man read this long and voluminous ap- 
pendix to his own brief obituary notice with growing 
feelings of repulsion and despair. The horror of it all 
was that this newspaper story must have been inspired, 
just as the photographs were supplied, by Miriam her- 
self. Before the end of the article was reached the 
death of her husband had become a mere passing, or 
rather past, incident in her own brilliant artistic and 
social career. Indeed, while the words were not 
actually written, the general impression conveyed was 
that the death of Marsh Gordon, a hopelessly chronic 
invalid, although no doubt sad and painful in its cir- 
cumstances, was to be considered in the light of a relief 
for the surviving members of his family. 


158 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ My God,” he groaned aloud, as the newspaper 
dropped from his unnerved fingers, “ and to think of 
my dear little Bessie having most probably read all 
this.” 

He arose, and in his agitation paced the veranda. 
He would die of shame now if Ned, having read the 
story, ever came to connect his new friend Jim 
Marshall with the Marsh Gordon who had passed on 
and whose memory was treated with such callous, al- 
most contemptuous indifference. Better to remain 
dead than to be resurrected in such abominable and 
humiliating circumstances. 

He wanted to be alone, to be out in the open, to 
think things well over while yet alone. So with a 
supreme effort he recovered his self-control, and, ap- 
proaching the doorway, quietly and in his accustomed 
voice spoke a few words to his comrade within. 

“ Ned, old man, I’m going for a little walk — to- 
ward the foothills. No, no, don’t disturb your studies. 
I won’t be long gone.” 

The same thing had often happened before, so Ned 
paid no particular attention. Just to stretch his legs, 
however, he got up and came to the doorway. 

“ It’s certainly a grand night for a walk, Jim,” he 
called out to the figure already receding into the dis- 
tance. 

Turning round, his eye fell on the discarded news- 
paper. He picked it up, and glanced again at the 
pictures. 

“ Certainly, she’s a bonnie wee thing,” he murmured. 

Then he re-entered the room, took a pair of scissors 
from the mantelshelf, and cut out the picture of little 


THE PASSING OF MARSH GORDON 159 


Bessie, finally placing it as a book-marker in the volume 
on the table. A minute later he had resumed his read- 
ing and his note-taking. 

The big nearly full moon had risen and was casting 
over the wilderness a flood of silvery radiance. 
Everything was very still, very peaceful, very beau- 
tiful, and as he walked along the peace and beauty of 
it all entered into Marsh Gordon’s soul. The subtle 
brooding spirit of the mighty desert was around him, 
bringing solace and soothing to his troubled mind. 
The very silence seemed to be audible — a vanishing 
sound like the dying of a day or the outward ebbing 
of a night wind. 

Onward he wandered, now picking a laborious way 
over billowing sand dunes, a few minutes later passing 
through a patch of weird-looking Joshuas, six or eight 
feet tall, with big naked top limbs that suggested 
orchard trees blasted and withered by lightning, until 
finally he reached the foothills where the scenery again 
changed, this time to huge boulders and slashed rocks 
and lofty battlemented ridges. Here he sat down to 
rest and commune with himself for a spell. 

At first his thoughts were of a general nature. The 
mystery of life, the mysterious ways of Providence, 
overwhelmed him. Whence ? Whither ? Why ? All 
were big points of interrogation. This was certain, 
that life leads through a strange country where no 
mile-post is passed the second time, where there may 
be green fields and fragrant flowers to cheer the way- 
farer, or only barren wastes of sand and dwarfed 
scrub to chill his soul. The path traversed runs from 
an unknown point of departure to an unknown point 


160 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


of arrival. Our coming, we believe, is from omnipo- 
tence, and therefore our going, we hope, is to immor- 
tality. Life is a season of probation — for purifica- 
tion or for deterioration — for the chiseling of a debit 
or a credit. As the flowers by the wayside give out 
their sweet perfume in unstinted abundance, so also 
should we let unmeasured gentleness and kindness ra- 
diate from us to all humanity. We pass this way only 
once, so that each life should strive by its sweet influ- 
ences to make mankind conscious of its passing. 

From lofty general thoughts Marsh Gordon came 
down to concrete facts in his own strange existence. 
Providence, destiny, kismet, fate — call it what you 
will — seemed to be working designedly for the ob- 
literation of his former personality. Several times 
during the past three months he had been on the point 
of writing to Miriam, but something had always stayed 
his hand — the changing mood, waiting for assured 
good news about his health, and so on. Therefore in a 
measure he had contributed by his own neglect to the 
ghastly error of the wrong identification. 

Now why should he thrust himself back into the life 
of the woman who was so obviously glad to be freed 
from the depressing burden of his presence? He was 
in no forgiving mood now toward her. It was the 
sense of personal pride that was rising in revolt within 
him — the personal pride that was coming back with 
improved health, restored vigor, and the consciousness 
of power to accomplish things despite his years and 
despite his past failures. 

All right, let Miriam go her way, the way of her 
heart’s desire, and he would go his way, his lonely way 


THE PASSING OF MARSH GORDON 161 


through the wilderness that had now become for him 
home. Let her seek the artistic and social incense for 
which she craved — the career to which his presence 
could only prove a handicap and a hindrance. Let 
him turn to the achievement of practical things which 
he dimly sensed were coming to him even here, right 
in the solitude of the desert. Let Marsh Gordon pass. 
Let Jim Marshall, the new name fortuitously acquired, 
henceforth stand alone. 

Such was the result of his self-communing. The 
resolve may have been a stern one, but the stern spirit 
of the desert had that night entered his soul. In the 
desert, cruel and remorseless, each living thing fights 
for individual existence — a hard fight of fangs and 
talons, spikes and spines. It was in this mood that 
Jim Marshall determined to face the future by himself. 

“ Kismet,” he murmured as he rose to depart. 
“ Well, let it go at that. Alone ! Alone ! ” 

From a little distance came the cry of a coyote, and 
glancing in its direction he caught sight of the crea- 
ture peering at him, timidly yet eagerly, from behind 
a boulder. He had seen the same animal before, for 
it limped along on three feet and had evidently lost a 
paw in some steel trap. In fact on several occasions 
Jim had brought out scraps of meat and left them as a 
meal for this crippled denizen of the wild. But to- 
night he had forgotten — he had nothing to offer. 
And he felt sorry for the poor beast, showing that, 
despite the fighting spirit of the desert, a touch of 
kindliness, of thoughtfulness for others, still remained. 
Alone, yet not quite all alone ! 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE PARTING 



GAIN the hands of time had moved on the dial — 


* a few more months had glided by, peacefully and 
happily for the two devoted comrades out on the desert. 
But now the hour of parting was at hand. 

It all happened one Monday morning. An official 
message came tapping and clicking over the wires noti- 
fying Ned that he had been promoted to the position 
of assistant train despatcher at Los Angeles, that by 
the end of the week his successor would arrive to take 
over the duties of station agent at Submarine, and 
that Ned would be expected to report for his new 
duties within three days thereafter. 

Although the news had been long anticipated, in 
truth eagerly awaited, yet it came now almost as a 
blow. For promotion meant the severing of a com- 
panionship that had grown to be very dear both to Ned 
Collier and to Jim Marshall. At the thought the 
young lad heaved a deep sigh. Jim had often insisted 
that Ned had taught him many useful things — the 
handling of a telegraph instrument, the routine of a 
station agent’s duties, and so on. But how much more 
had he learned in return from this dear old chum who 
had so strangely entered into his life, and had proved 
to be only a vagrant in disguise — in actual reality a 


THE PARTING 


163 

scholar, a widely read man, a thinker, a teacher with 
whom association amounted to a liberal education? 
During the all too brief months of association Ned had 
drunk deeply from the fountain of Jim’s learning and 
philosophy. And now he was going to lose this best of 
all the friends he had ever yet made. 

Jim’s emotions were just the same. Despite the 
difference in years, this comradeship had also come to 
be for him like that of Damon and Pythias. The part- 
ing would be hard. But he tried to look cheerful as he 
warmly congratulated his young friend on the step in 
advancement which he so well deserved. 

To Ned, too, the loss of the desert meant no small 
sacrifice. He had grown to love the great brooding 
wilderness in all its moods and aspects — its illimitable 
horizons, its vast sky of blue by day and its star-be- 
decked purpled canopy by night, its glorious sunrises 
and wonderful sunsets, its sublime peacefulness, its 
very solitude far away from all the petty worries 
and strivings of the crowded marts of men. He had 
become mentally acclimated to the power of silence, 
and to transplant him now was like the tearing up of 
delicate rootlets of habit and preference. 

“ Well, we must be men of action, Jim,” exclaimed 
Ned. He had been sitting meditative awhile with aus- 
tere knitted brows, but now he spoke with the forceful- 
ness of a Napoleon. “ When duty calls us to the fight- 
ing line, we’ve got to grab our guns, tighten our belts 
and go, old boy. Go — that’s the word.” 

There was a lump in Jim’s tnroat, and he did not 
seek to interrupt — he just huskily murmured : “ Sure, 
sure.” 


164 the man who discovered himself 


Ned rose, and crossing over to his desk drew from a 
pigeon-hole a neatly folded legal paper. 

“ Here is my relinquishment to the land, Jim,” he 
went on, “ all fixed up. Tomorrow morning you will 
take the early train for San Bernardino, file this relin- 
quishment, and then put on a new filing for yourself.” 

This procedure had been decided on long ago, so on 
the following morning Jim was on his way to the U. S. 
Land Office. By noon of the morrow he was back at 
Submarine. The two chums clasped hands as if the 
separation had been for a year instead of a day. 

But Ned’s face was bright with happiness when, the 
Overland having continued on its eastern way, he led 
Jim into the office. 

“ I’ve got great news for you, old scout,” he ex- 
claimed. “ When you hear it you’ll admit I’m some 
fixer. The moment you were gone I burned up the 
wires — got in touch first with division telegraphic 
headquarters at Yuma, was referred to Los Angeles, 
and then was switched back to Yuma again. And in 
the end everything came out right. You have been 
appointed station agent at Submarine Junction, and are 
to enter on your duties right away. The only draw- 
back is that, seeing you are here and are already thor- 
oughly familiar with the job, I am expected to take this 
afternoon’s train and report at Los Angeles for duty 
tomorrow morning. So today we’ll have our last meal 
together in the dear old desert home.” 

There was a tremor of sorrow in the young fellow’s 
voice as once again he wrung his comrade’s hand. 
Jim, overcome by the suddenness of the severance, was 


THE PARTING 


165 

too deeply moved to speak. He had a vague sense that 
he ought to be thanking Ned for the great service he 
had done in recommending him as his successor. 

But both men knew what was in each other’s hearts 
as they gripped hands and looked into each other’s 
eyes. 

“ I’ve been busy since you went away,” Ned re- 
sumed, dropping into his desk chair. “ All the work 
is completed down to the minute — waybills and every- 
thing written up, books posted, and so on. So for the 
few remaining hours we have nothing to do but enjoy 
ourselves in an old-fashioned visit. I have dinner 
ready except to boil the coffee and broil a mighty fine 
steak I ordered specially from Yuma for the occasion. 
Let’s go over to the shack now, Jim.” 

Arm in arm they crossed to the little home that 
would no longer be so called by the boy who had built 
it some two years before with his own hands, and to 
the shelter of which he had welcomed the stranger who 
had since become so close a friend. These thoughts 
were in both their minds as they sat down to the fare- 
well meal. They ate sparingly and in comparative 
silence, although every now and then Ned did try val- 
iantly to start and keep up a conversation in a small 
way. But the talk soon flickered out, with really noth- 
ing said. Their hearts were too full with the thought 
of the impending parting. 

As the work of putting the little kitchen in order 
came to a close, Jim remarked : 

“ Ned, my dear boy, friends are not made but dis- 
covered, just as you discovered me and I discovered 


1 66 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


you that day which seems so long ago, when you found 
me on the railroad ties perishing from thirst and almost 
at the end of my string/’ 

“ I subscribe to that,” replied Ned, with attempted 
pleasantry in his voice. “ It is very true. Friends are 
discovered. And when I discovered you, Jim Mar- 
shall, I found the best chap that ever lived.” 

As he spoke he prudently glanced at his watch. 

“ Only half an hour now until that old train comes 
wheeling in from the east. Let’s go over to the office, 
Jim. Cheer up, old boy. We’ll light our corn-cob 
pipes for the last time together for perhaps many 
moons, and ask over the wire if the Limited has left 
Cactus. We’ll put up our heels on the desk, tilt our 
chairs, mix smoke and forget all sadness at our part- 
ing.” Ned slapped Jim on the back goodnaturedly. 
“We are big men, old fellow, and strong men, and 
I’m going out into the world to conquer.” 

“ Yes,” responded Jim, laying an arm caressingly on 
the young man’s shoulder, “ you are going out to con- 
quer and you will win big things — bigger than you 
dream of, Ned. I know it. You are the real stuff 
that makes successful men.” 

“ Thanks for the compliment, Jim. Let us hope it 
is a prophecy. And I’ll write you every week, old pal. 
It will be my Sunday morning recreation. You’ll give 
me long letters in reply, won’t you — tell me all your 
news, everything that happens at Submarine ? ” 

“ My news of society events in Submarine won’t 
amount to much,” smiled Jim. “But there will be lots 
of things to write you about all the same.” 

They had been smoking and chatting some time 


THE PARTING 


167 


when at last the distant rumble of the incoming train 
was heard. Ned jumped up and snapped together the 
lock of his handbag; his trunk was already on the 
truck outside, duly checked for Los Angeles; Jim took 
temporary possession of the grip resting on the office 
counter. 

They were now standing together on the platform, 
watching the train as it swept down the grade to a pal- 
pitating halt in front of the depot. Each intended to 
say something more but neither spoke. Presently the 
fireman pulled the chain at the water tank to refill his 
locomotive, the conductor descended and came strolling 
along the platform. 

Ned formally presented the new station agent to the 
conductor, although as man to man both already knew 
each other well. But the conductor had already heard 
the news, and had congratulations both for Ned on his 
promotion and for Jim on his appointment. He sort 
of sensed the situation, and soon passed on toward the 
mail car, leaving the friends again alone. 

A little later the clanging of the bell gave the warn- 
ing of “ all aboard.’’ The chums stood by the steps of 
the coach and clasped hands. Jim looked into the eyes 
of the noble young fellow whom he had learned to love 
as he would have loved a son had he been blessed with 
one; while Ned, although there were two big tears 
trickling down his cheeks, forced a laugh as he said : 

“ Goodby, pal, goodby.” 

Just the simple commonplace words of parting — 
nothing more ! 

It was with a determined air of resolution that Ned 
swung his grip and handbag onto the platform of the 


1 68 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


already moving car and climbed up after them. A 
wave of the hand, the train glided on, and Jim Mar- 
shall was alone. He watched the little flags on the 
rearmost coach as they gradually and swiftly vanished 
into the distance. And soon even the throbbing of the 
locomotive also died away. 

For a few moments Jim stood, grave and pensive. 
Then he pulled himself together, strode over to the 
office, sat down at the telegraph instrument, and sent 
a wire to division headquarters announcing that he 
had taken over his new duties. As “ the man in 
charge ” now, he felt a sense of his responsibilities. 
But his thoughts were also fuller than ever of grati- 
tude for all the good things that had come his way — 
of yearning kindness toward those in sorry plight as he 
had once been, the poor and discouraged of the world, 
the down-and-outers needing often enough only a help- 
ing hand and the smile of encouragement to raise them 
from the depths and restore them to usefulness as he 
himself had been restored. 


CHAPTER XIX 


PATHS THAT MET 

' I "'HREE years had passed. For over two years of 
this period Jim Marshall had continued to be the 
station agent at Submarine Junction. He enjoyed the 
reputation of being one of the most efficient employees 
on the railway, thoroughly familiar with all his duties, 
an expert telegraphist, reliable at all times, resourceful 
in emergencies, cool, capable, tactful, and respected by 
all with whom he came into contact. On two occa- 
sions he had been offered promotion, once to quite an 
important town within thirty miles of Los Angeles. 
But neither the professional advancement nor the in- 
creased pay had attracted him. The desert climate 
had bestowed on him recovered health and strength, 
and he stuck to it, also to his homestead -of a hundred 
and sixty acres. 

The latter he had wonderfully improved. Ned’s 
rough and ready board shack had yielded place to a 
neat and trim three-roomed cottage, with a spacious 
screened porch for sleeping quarters. He had applied 
to the railroad company for some privileges in the mat- 
ter of water, and with these accorded to him he soon 
had bright flowers around his home, also a vegetable 
patch of sufficient size to supply all his wants in this 
particular line. By taking advantage of the parcel post 


170 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


and the frequent trains he obtained regular supplies of 
fresh meat, butter, eggs, and other provisions, so that 
canned goods were required only as an occasional 
stand-by, and did not constitute the regular diet to 
which most dwellers on the desert are compelled. 
Thus the place had proved for him nothing more nor 
less than an ideal sanitarium. 

Under these conditions his cough had long since dis- 
appeared, the stoop had gone from his shoulders, his 
chest had expanded, his erstwhile lean, gaunt frame 
had taken to itself again the flesh that rounded out 
limbs and features, into his sun-browned cheeks had 
come the ruddy tinge of health, even his hair had re- 
covered vitality so that scant grey locks had become re- 
placed by a vigorous growth which might almost have 
been dignified by the name of pompadour. Altogether 
a wonderful transformation — one of those near-mir- 
acles which Nature, aided by the will-power and the 
temperament of the individual, is capable of perform- 
ing even in desperate and well-nigh hopeless cases. 

Physically Marsh Gordon had been to all intents and 
purposes reincarnated as Jim Marshall. Mentally the 
change was hardly less striking. The timid shrinking 
reserve of the chronic invalid had completely disap- 
peared. It was no longer an apologetic hand that was 
raised to lips for the suppression of a coughing attack. 
Every gesture now was one of vigor and forcefulness, 
as many a hobo had come to divine long before getting 
within range of the fist that warned him to take him- 
self away. 

Then again, while Jim was still a great reader, he no 
longer shut himself up with books as formerly, con- 


PATHS THAT MET 


I7i 

cealing his infirmity both from himself and from oth- 
ers in their companionship. He was always glad now 
to lay aside a volume when some teamster happened 
along or a rancher from up the river came in with a 
wagon-load of wool. Conversation with his fellow 
mortals, however commonplace, had come to have the 
preference over commune with the immortals of the 
printed page. 

On such occasions Jim Marshall was the soul of hos- 
pitality. No rancher was ever allowed to start back 
for home without sharing a meal. The honest team- 
ster passing by had never to ask for a cup of tea or 
coffee. And during a pleasant leisurely hour the news 
of the day would be discussed, crops and prospects, the 
latest settlements, the coming of the high-line irriga- 
tion canal, most likely — thaU will-o’-the-wisp project 
which was always about to happen yet never seemed to 
materialize. No one knew better than the alert- 
minded station agent the potential resources of the lo- 
cality and the engineering requirements for their even- 
tual development. He had not only gleaned his knowl- 
edge from hundreds of such conversations, but he had 
tramped the country over a wide radius all around, 
until he was acquainted with every contour of the land. 
And his faith was condensed in a favorite expression, 
one with which he ended most discussions on the topic : 
“ Don’t worry ; the high-line canal will surely come.” 

The project meant much for Jim Marshall. He 
knew that its realization would make his choice quar- 
ter-section, close to the depot, the most valuable acreage 
anywhere near — in fact the inevitable townsite when 
water would bring an inrush of settlers to the rich silt 


172 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


lands. He often looked over his holding, and fre- 
quently of an evening would walk from corner post 
to corner post. The location was ideal and guaranteed 
him double frontage on the main thoroughfare when 
Submarine Junction would be a town. Sc he had a 
“ lead pipe cinch ” on the locality, as Ned would have 
described it in his breezy style. 

But Jim Marshall’s thoughts were travelling far be- 
yond Submarine. One of his most intimate friends 
was a rancher up the river, a Frenchman by birth, as 
his name indicated — Francois Lavigne. Jim had 
never applied for a holiday all through his period of 
service with the railway company, so, with no one to 
relieve him of his duties even for a single day, had not 
been able as yet to accept Lavigne’s invitation to visit 
him at his home. But meanwhile, every time Lavigne 
paid the depot a call, bringing in wool or fetching away 
stores, the station agent sat at his feet, so to speak, and 
took full toll from his visitor’s experiences of the rich 
stock-raising country away to the north among the 
foothills. 

Lavigne’s specialty was sheep. He had imported 
prize Rambouillet rams from his native France, and 
was reputed to have the highest-grade flocks in the 
West. He grew chiefly for wool, but every now and 
then had a few carloads of fat wethers for the mutton 
market. Thus Jim and he met quite often, and as the 
friendship progressed the hours of conversation grew 
more and more prolonged. 

So, while he kept his own counsel all the time, Jim 
Marshall had plans far afield from Submarine Junc- 
tion. The sale of his homestead would be only a step 


PATHS THAT MET 


173 


toward the carrying into effect of these plans. Ready 
cash was the first desideratum — the absolutely indis- 
pensable thing indeed. For this he patiently awaited 
the coming of the high-line canal. 

He was quite content to wait. Everything was go- 
ing well with him in the meantime. There had been a 
good deal of new settlement along the river to the 
north during the last two or three years, so that there 
was more freight to handle and the day’s tasks at the 
depot were considerably heavier. Then other ranchers 
besides Francois Lavigne had formed the habit of 
driving to the depot on the smallest possible excuse, so 
that a pleasant neighborly visit might be paid. Jim 
constituted the entire resident population of Subma- 
rine, but his personality was such that the place was 
rapidly acquiring, for the locality, almost the reputa- 
tion of a tourist town. Therefore, with his books, too, 
to fall back upon, time never hung heavy on his hands. 

But for Jim Marshall the happiest hour of all was on 
Monday nights, when the Los Angeles express came in 
and brought with unfailing regularity the weekly letter 
from his dear and faithful pal, Ned Collier. “ His 
dear old pal ” — that is how the old man invariably 
thought of the young boy who had rescued him from 
death, befriended him, fed and clothed him, restored 
him to health, courage, and ambition. Ned had come 
to be more to him than a son; he was a child of his 
very soul. 

And this rare affection, this almost paradoxical at- 
traction between two men so far apart in years, was 
not alone on Jim’s side. Ned had fully reciprocated 
the feeling, as had been shown at the hour of parting 


174 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


more than two years ago, and had been still more abun- 
dantly proved by the letters which ever since had been 
mailed each Sunday night, without a single break, to 
“ the dear old boy ” out on the desert. And with the 
letters came very frequently some token of friendship 
or some thoughtful little delicacy — it might be only a 
cream cheese or a can of tobacco, but a message from 
heart to heart all the same. 

It was one particular Monday night. The express 
had gone through, and Jim had returned to the cot- 
tage bringing with him his usual newspaper, a small 
postal package, and, most important of all, Ned’s reg- 
ular letter, a generous epistle, as the fat envelope prom- 
ised. Jim sat down in a leisurely way, prepared for a 
quiet, pleasant hour. The newspaper was laid aside 
with scant ceremony, but the package was first of all 
opened. It proved to be a carton containing five fine- 
looking cigars. Jim deliberately lingered to light one 
— it was just what Ned would have liked him to do. 
Puffing complacently he now at last applied himself 
to the letter — his weekly treat, to be enjoyed without 
interruption only after everything else had been at- 
tended to and there could be no possible interruption. 

The epistle opened in an excited manner, but Jim 
read on placidly — he was accustomed to Ned’s erup- 
tive moods. 

“My dear old boy: 

'‘Listen, listen. Draw your chair closer. Come 
nearer to my ear. I’m going to whisper something to 
you in confidence. It will amaze you — take your 
breath away. That I, the heart-free, the love-proof, 


PATHS THAT MET 


175 


the man not to-be diverted from a great career by wom- 
an’s wiles — that I should have succumbed. To think 
of it ! How are the mighty fallen ! Tell it not in Gath 
nor proclaim it in the streets of Ascalon. And now to 
my confession.” 

Jim leaned back in his chair, smiled, took a few puffs 
at his cigar as if to prolong the pleasure of expectancy, 
then smiled again and resumed his reading. 

“ It all happened so suddenly, Jim. Like a thunder- 
bolt from the blue — that’s how the poets would de- 
scribe it. We met at a party. I was introduced. She 
smiled at me — such a pretty dimpled smile from the 
prettiest dimpled face my eyes had ever looked upon. 
And in a moment I had lost my heart. Right there 
the old Ned Collier was a gonner.” 

For another full page of rhapsody the letter ran on, 
with praises of the beloved one’s beauty, her divine 
singing, her superb piano-playing. Jim still smiled, in- 
dulgently, quite undisturbed. But all of a sudden he 
started — sat bolt-upright in his chair. His lips were 
eagerly parted now, his breath came quicker, while he 
read : 

“ Her name is Bessie Gordon. A pretty name, isn’t 
it? Not quite sixteen yet — sweet sixteen. So of 
course I’ll have to wait a year or two or maybe longer. 
But Bessie is worth waiting for, Jim. I would wait 
ten years, and worship at her feet all the time. If 
she’s to be my Rachel, I’m her Jacob — that’s a cinch, 
old boy.” 


176 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Jim dropped the hand that held the letter. Into his 
face came a glow of great joy. He murmured aloud : 
“ Oh, dear God, to think that these two may be united 
— the two beings I love best in all the world. Jim, 
my dear old pal; Bessie, my wee sweet maid. Dear 
God, I thank you.” 

For a moment he remained, gazing in front of him. 
Then he raised the letter again. 

“ But say, Jim, isn’t it curious? No doubt, you have 
forgotten that name. But I remember it. Bessie 
Gordon — the daughter of that poor old fellow we read 
about in the newspaper, who died of thirst in Death 
Valley and was eaten up by coyotes. You mayn’t 
know that I cut her picture out of the newspaper that 
night, and have it still. I showed it to her the second 
time we met. She blushed a bit — of course I dis- 
creetly hinted that she was obviously my fate. But I 
speedily changed the subject. There were great big 
tears in her eyes — she was thinking of her lost dad. 

“ I consoled her, Jim — nothing like consoling to put 
the love stuff over, old boy. Oh, I’m tumbling to the 
game, although of course as yet I’ve got to be mighty 
careful in my approaches. 

“ But joking apart, Jim, you can take it from me, 
that I’m in dead earnest. Bessie is the sweetest little 
girl in all the world, and I only loved her all the more 
when she pulled out from her belt a little gun-metal 
watch — you remember the watch in the newspaper 
story, Jim, with the inscription inside? — and held it 
up before me. 4 It was my dear daddy’s watch,’ she 
said, 4 and every time I put it to my ear like this, I just 


PATHS THAT MET 


1 77 


feel that, even though he is dead, he is sending me a 
loving message/ She was crying again, Jim, and hang 
it all I’ll allow I was almost blubbering, too — to think 
of it, I, Ned Collier, the man of iron who used to be 
the terror of all the hoboes this side of Yuma. How- 
ever, a pretty girl in sorrow makes a lot of difference, 
don’t it, pal? ” 

But Ned, had he been present, would have found 
that Jim also had been moved to tears. Shoulders 
heaved convulsively as he leaned forward, his face bur- 
ied against an outstretched arm. It was several min- 
utes before he sufficiently recovered from his emotion 
to complete perusal of the letter. 

The closing paragraphs, however, were in different 
style. Ned had gradually descended to prosaic matter- 
of-fact details. He was to visit at the Gordon bunga- 
low at Venice-by-the-Sea next Sunday afternoon. He 
was rather scared of the mother — looked like a bit of 
a tartar. And he had heard her laughingly declare 
that no girl should think of marrying a man with less 
than $5000 a year. 

“ I’m dead sure she kind of meant the remark as a 
warning to me. So you see, Jim, I’ll have to get busy 
— that’s about the salary, I should think, of a private 
secretary to the President, and the very job I’ve my eye 
on. But to get there I’ll have to climb over the corpses 
of a thousand rival candidates. So it must be hustle 
from now on. No more time to write long Sunday 
letters, eh? But, gee, I feel good now that I’ve unbos- 
omed myself to you, Jim. It’s great to be alive when 


178 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


a fellow has even a chance of winning such a girl as 
Bessie Gordon. Them’s my sentiments, and here’s my 
hand across the miles — good night. 

“ Your old chum, 

“ Ned. 

“ P. S. — Hope you’ll survive my new brand of 
cigars. They’ll be a day’s change from the corn-cob 
anyway.” 

Jim had reached the last word. He folded the let- 
ter, and replaced it in the envelope. Then he leaned 
forward, hands clasped upon his knees, weighing 
everything over in his mind. There might be compli- 
cations ahead. Yet he was well content. Destiny was 
weaving in her mysterious loom. But love between 
Ned and Bessie could only be a thread of purest gold 
to enrich and glorify the wondrous fabric. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE OPENING WAY 

L IFE for Miriam Gordon had its full measure of ac-» 
tivities, yet through them all she preserved won- 
derfully her placid and even temperament. Her posi- 
tion as president of a leading woman’s club gave her 
the public recognition that often means so much for 
those pursuing an artistic career. Her painted porce- 
lains were not yet in great demand, nor did they com- 
mand the prices which she deemed to be their due. 
However, they were on display in the leading art stores 
in Los Angeles, they were a prominent feature at local 
exhibitions and bazaars, and the newspapers had be- 
stowed quite a number of flattering encomiums. The 
making of a name is always a matter of time, and she 
cheerfully accepted this necessary condition to ultimate 
success. 

Miriam was essentially the thrifty type of woman, 
one who kept tight hold of every coin, even the small- 
est, and looked at it several times before deciding ta 
part from it. All her pursuits were tempered by the 
strictest ideas of domestic economy. Her only extrav- 
agance was in clothes, but these she counted simply as 
an expenditure to capital account, sure of making im- 
mediate and adequate returns. Partly to add to her 
earnings, partly for the sake of further advertisement,, 
and partly al$p with a view to extend her social circle, 
179 


i8o THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


she now gave private lessons in china painting at her 
own home in Venice-by-the-Sea, where she had in- 
stalled a furnace so that every process of the art could 
be learned by her pupils. She also conducted select 
classes twice a week at a fashionable art institute in 
the wealthy city of Pasadena. 

Her progress had been such that she had felt justi- 
fied in tearing down the old screened sleeping room in 
the backyard and replacing it by an elegantly designed 
and finely equipped studio. Among the rich furnish- 
ings of this miniature temple of art was a grand piano 
— being purchased on the installment plan, although 
the world at large was not supposed to know this. 

Here Miriam taught, Bessie practiced her singing 
and piano-forte playing, and occasional receptions and 
concerts were held. Bernice and her husband at- 
tended these, and reciprocated with similar gatherings 
in their own beautiful Los Angeles home. Therefore 
Miriam felt herself quite in the social swim and on the 
assured way to still greater triumphs. 

There was one perplexity in her life, but after a 
while she had ceased to bother about it and had brought 
her mind quietly to accept the situation that had 
evolved. About a year after her husband’s death there 
had come to her address a typewritten envelope con- 
taining a twenty-dollar bill, but without any accom- 
panying words to explain why, whence, or by whom it 
had been sent. At first she thought an accidental omis- 
sion had been made, and waited for the relative com- 
munication to follow. But a month later, when a sec- 
ond envelope of identical pattern and again bearing 
her typewritten address arrived, to her great surprise 


THE OPENING WAY 


181 


once more it brought a twenty-dollar bill, again with- 
out explanation of any kind. And thereafter, month 
after month with unfailing regularity, the same myste- 
rious remittance reached her hands. The only post- 
mark on the envelope was that of the Sunset Overland 
Mail, so that the benefactor, whoever he might be, was 
obviously taking elaborate precautions to conceal his 
identity, for such a letter might be posted on the mail 
train at any stopping-place between New Orleans and 
Pasadena without its exact place of departure being 
revealed. 

For a time she puzzled over the strange affair, but 
ultimately reasoned it out to her own satisfaction. 
Southern California is the home of rich people, many 
of them patrons of art. No doubt, some one ac- 
quainted with her story — how she had been left a 
widow in slender circumstances — had adopted this 
delicate method of lending her a helping hand. The 
direct offer of assistance would have been impossible, 
so the cloak of anonymity had been resorted to. 

Therefore with her accustomed equanimity Miriam 
had long since left the question alone and had come to 
treat the monthly contribution to her resources as a 
routine incident. It was most welcome, for it helped 
to pay for Bessie’s pianoforte and vocal lessons, giving 
the child the advantage of having for her teachers pro- 
fessors of the highest standing, one of them indeed of 
almost a national reputation. Providence was cer- 
tainly very kind, but Miriam kept her thankfulness 
strictly within her own bosom, neither Bessie nor Ber- 
nice being told anything about this particular manifes- 
tation of its protecting care. 


1 82 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ The inaudible and noiseless foot of time ” was 
still moving along. Bessie was now sixteen years of 
age, and, like many girls in Southern California, de- 
spite tender years was quite a young woman in appear- 
ance and in mental poise. The promise of rare beauty 
in girlhood days had been amply fulfilled. The golden 
locks were somewhat darker now, but their curls 
framed a bright pretty face with red lips that could 
smile as winsomely as ever and blue eyes that could be 
tender or merry as their owner willed. 

She attended high school, where she specialized in 
musical studies, supplementing these by the private les- 
sons from her professors. Ned Collier, the bright 
young railroad official, had come to be a frequent vis- 
itor at the home. Although love had as yet not been 
openly spoken, from the first there had been some po- 
tent attraction, some subtle bond of sympathy, between 
the youthful pair. Ned’s weekly confidences to his 
dear old pal ” on the desert told the story of his ever 
waxing devotion, but if his eyes could have only seen a 
little diary that Bessie kept sacredly for herself and 
herself alone his heart would have leapt at the knowl- 
edge that she too had been touched by the divine fire 
of love. 

Mrs. Miriam Gordon’s “ evenings-at-home ” were 
invariably fixed for Friday, and had now become quite 
a fashionable institution, attended by notables from 
Los Angeles, Hollywood, Pasadena, and even farther 
afield. While most of the other guests had their lux- 
urious automobiles, Ned Collier invariably came down 
by the modest interurban car. But he looked well in 
all the glory of the de regie evening dress, and had 


THE OPENING WAY 


18a 


established himself as such a popular favorite that, re- 
turning citywards, he was rarely without a seat in one 
of the more fashionable vehicles. Miriam could not 
fail to observe that the young Arizonan, the only son 
of parents socially distinguished in their own state, al- 
though poor perhaps as regards salary now,, had an 
undoubted future before him. Therefore, while she 
carefully shepherded Bessie from any and all prema- 
ture love entanglements, she in no wise discouraged the 
handsome, ardent, and most pleasing youth. 

With his natural shrewdness, drawn also by genuine 
attraction, Ned cultivated the friendship of Burn Hop- 
kins. The same spirit of buoyant optimism permeated 
both young men, and when Ned would laughingly fore- 
cast his coming lofty position as a railway magnate he 
would at the same time condescendingly promise Burn 
a job some day as one of the attorneys for the road.. 
Burn Hopkins would gaily respond, and Bernice in her 
queenly serenity would smile too. Thus it came about 
that Ned occasionally dined at the attorney’s house, 
and was accepted as one of the intimates in the entire 
family circle. 

Therefore as each weekly letter went out to the still 
fondly cherished chum of desert days, it carried to 
Jim Marshall a full budget of news about all those still 
so very dear to the latter’s heart. At first Jim was. 
inclined to feel that the time had come when he should 
reveal his identity. But that thought soon passed. 
He had no right to disclose himself — what was he yet 
but a mere desert rat, an humble station agent earning 
$45 per month ? Miriam was doing splendidly — far 
better than when he, the invalid shoe-pegger, was pres- 


184 the man who discovered himself 


ent as an incubus on her shoulders, a handicap to her 
ambitious plans. All his admiration for the quietly 
masterful woman returned. But it was his obvious 
duty sternly to repress any reawakening tenderness of 
the old love. 

Not yet, assuredly not yet — neither for her sake nor 
for his. He, too, had his world to conquer, also the 
individual freedom, which he realized had made a man 
of him at last, jealously to preserve. His mind was 
obsessed by a great scheme, based on knowledge gar- 
nered through Francois Lavigne, awaiting for fruition 
only the coming of the high-line irrigation canal. 
There must be no weak turning away now from the 
long, straight furrow which vision had already drawn 
— a furrow leading to a personal victory for himself 
that would at the proper time show to Miriam, to Bes- 
sie, to Bernice, to all the world that, although Marsh 
Gordon had by the very burden of domesticity once be- 
come a down-and-outer, he was no failure, but a man, 
every inch a man, an achiever of big things, a veritable 
empire-builder it might even prove. Then might come 
reunion and repose. Meanwhile there must be action, 
with the free unfettered hand. 

And at this thought, alone on the desert, he would 
sing aloud, robustly now, for with recovered health the 
voice of his youth had returned, not despondently as of 
yore but with the ring of assured triumph in the tune : 

On the other side of Iordan, 

In the sweet Helds of Eden, 

Where the tree of life is blooming, 

There is rest for me. 


THE OPENING WAY 


185 


The geography of the hymn had somehow changed. 
His Jordan, his Eden, the tree of life were no longer 
necessarily attainable only through the Valley of 
Death. And in this buoyant mood he would sing the 
refrain again and again. 

Thus hummed Jim Marshall one early morning as 
he was busy over some waybills for an incoming 
freight. At the close of his task he rose to stretch 
his limbs and bestow a glance up and down the line. 
This done, he gazed long and lingeringly toward the 
northern foothills mantled in the delicate heliotrope of 
dawn, one of Nature’s art masterpieces which never 
failed to delight his soul. Then he turned around and 
cast his eyes across the unbroken expanse of desert 
to the south. 

Away in the distance, silhouetted against the sky- 
line, to the southeast where the mighty Colorado River 
lay, was the figure of a man peeping over a tripod. 
Close by stood a covered wagon, its team unhitched 
and feeding at the pole. Further back wer.e three or 
four other men, driving stakes in the wake of the sur- 
veyor and his instrument, and looking still closer, he 
discovered a flagman far in advance toward whom the 
man at the tripod was sighting. 

Jim stood motionless, impassive and indifferent, it 
might seem, in the splendid discipline of his nerves. 
But there was the flash of joy in his eyes, a vibrant 
note of triumph in his voice, as he quietly murmured : 
“ At last — the high-line canal.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


PLANS AHEAD 

W ITHIN a month Submarine Junction was the 
center of a busy scene. The surveying crew 
had passed, and following in its wake had come the 
actual builders of the irrigation channel, with their 
teams and wagons, their ditch-digging machines and 
grading scrapers, their rock crushers and cement out- 
fits, their small army of laborers with sleeping and mess 
tents, together with piles of baled hay for mules and 
horses, and stacks of provisions for the men. A sort 
of battlefield scene, and in some of its aspects a real 
battle — the conquering of the thirsty, hungry wilder- 
ness by man’s indomitable energies guided by experi- 
ence and inspired by far-seeing vision. 

Jim Marshall was a quiet observer of all that was 
going on, Francois Lavigne also manifested great in- 
terest, and paid Jim frequent visits, sometimes for a 
couple of days, sharing Jim’s hospitality and sleeping 
overnight on the veranda of the cottage. On occa- 
sion the Frenchman would bring down a bottle of rare 
old vintage claret, the finest produced in his beloved 
home land, and after dinner the two friends would talk 
over certain ulterior plans, sometimes far into the small 
hours of the night. 

The Lavigne ranch that lay some twenty miles away 
186 


PLANS AHEAD 


187 


up the Colorado River extended to close on a couple of 
thousand acres, patented land, consolidated from the 
holdings of the original homesteaders who had sold out 
after proving up their properties and securing full title 
to their acreages. These homesteaders had quitted for 
various reasons. Some had never been really fitted for 
life in the wilderness, had tired of its loneliness, and 
had eagerly embraced the first opportunity that offered 
to sell out and return to the more congenial life of 
city or town. Others had been disappointed in their 
hopes, for a local irrigation scheme had come to grief 
through lack of funds and there had been insufficient 
water for the alfalfa crops that had been reckoned on 
as a mainstay. Yet a third class were the speculators 
who deliberately use the homestead laws as a means to 
secure, by a few years of penance, title to land which 
will be a salable asset after the minimum of required 
improvements has been made and closer settlement has 
enhanced values throughout the district as a whole. 

The Frenchman was an ideal settler, for he possessed 
sufficient capital to hold on, unlimited stores of con- 
tentment and patience, also shrewd foresight as to pos- 
sible future developments. He had bided his time, 
bought adjacent holdings when he could, and so grad- 
ually acquired his considerable and valuable property. 
In all this he had been aided by his good wife Hor- 
tense, the typical peasant woman of France who laughs 
at solitude, treats the allurements of city life with indif- 
ference, and makes actual possession of the soil the be- 
all and end-all of human happiness. 

The Lavignes had prospered, but the full measure of 
their prosperity had been denied to them because of the 


1 88 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


inadequate water supply for their land. Its productiv- 
ity and earning power would have been greatly en- 
hanced had the local irrigation project not ended in 
failure. It was this very question that some time ago 
had appealed to«Jim Marshall’s imagination and had 
ever since occupied his busy brain. 

One night he and Lavigne were together, and were 
for the tenth time or more studying a map of the dis- 
trict. 

“ See, here is where the channel was abandoned,” the 
Frenchman was explaining, his finger pointing to a 
pencilled cross on the map, “ just four and a half miles 
from my boundary line. The lateral ditch must come 
through the Reilly-Burke land, and if these men had 
been in sheep like myself instead of cattle, or if they 
had shown a more friendly and neighborly disposi- 
tion, all my troubles might have been solved years ago. 
But they are the most damnably cantankerous couple 
ever a man was up against, so I’ve been powerless all 
this time.” 

Jim nodded understanding^ ; he was already famil- 
iar with the situation, but invariably allowed Lavigne 
to voice his grievances anew when it seemed to give 
him comfort so to do. He turned to his bookshelves, 
and drew forth a treatise dealing with the laws of 
water rights in the State of California. It looked, as 
it had really come to be, a well-thumbed volume. Jim 
opened it at a turned-down page. 

“ Well, Francois,” he said, “ I went over the law 
again last night, and am quite sure that with the com- 
bined acreage we can secure undisputed title to every 
inch of that water. In all riparian rights the underly- 


PLANS AHEAD 


189 


ing principle is first come first served, and absolute 
ownership of all water profitably employed. See here, 
the section is perfectly plain/’ He read aloud one of 
the numbered articles of the statute to which he was 
referring, then laid the book face-down on the table. 
“ So it just comes to this,” he went on, returning to the 
map, “ that these cattlemen must be bought out, lock, 
stock, and barrel.” 

Lavigne had lifted the book and was re-reading the 
article. Here and there were carefully underscored 
lines. 

“ You have become a great lawyer, Jim,” he re- 
marked, raising his eyes and bestowing an admiring 
smile. “ And to think that you have found time to 
read all these big books,” he continued, pointing with 
the bowl of his pipe to a row of portly calf-bound vol- 
umes on the shelf. 

The volumes indicated were the standard treatises 
for every law student and every practising attorney — 
Blackstone, Kent’s Commentaries, Parsons on Con- 
tracts, and so on. 

“ Well, you see,” replied Jim with a grin, “ it was 
just these blamed tangled-up water right laws of Cali- 
fornia that more than two years ago set me reading law 
in a general sort of way. And I had not the faintest 
idea that it was such mighty interesting reading, I can 
tell you. But Ned kept sending me along the books, 
one at a time.” 

“ Ned — and what’s the latest news from him? ” 

“ Getting along fine. Assistant superintendent in 
the freight department. That’s going some, isn’t it? 
and Ned still little more than a boy.” 


190 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Oh, he was keen and bright and wide-awake all the 
time. That young fellow was bound to get on.” 

“ Bet your life,” assented Jim emphatically, as he 
reached for the tobacco jar and began to fill his pipe. 
“ The best boy that ever lived, Francois — that’s what 
Ned Collier is. You know how he put me on my feet 
and helped me along? ” 

“ You certainly needed a bit of feeding-up,” laughed 
the Frenchman, “ when you first struck Submarine. 
Looked as if a whiff of wind would have blown you off 
your feet, eh, my friend? I’ve never seen such a 
change in a man in all my life.” 

Jim smiled complacently. “ It would need some- 
thing of a cyclone to budge me these days. Well, 
Francois, you get busy now with both Reilly and 
Burke. You say they are still at outs? ” 

“ The one hasn’t a good word to say for the other. 
Yet they live under the same roof. I told you how 
they built their home, didn’t I ? ” 

Jim nodded, but Francois went on: 

“ You see, they made adjoining desert filings, 320 
acres each, and for company’s sake put the log house 
up right across the common boundary line. It’s just 
one big long building — forty feet long, I’d reckon. 
And the one half is on Reilly’s land, the other on 
Burke’s — both Irishmen, as you’ll know from the 
names. Each man has his bed at his own particular 
end, so that from the first they complied with the law 
by sleeping on their own holdings. But the fireplace is 
right in the middle, and now, though they’re partners 
as regards the cattle running on the hills in the back 
country, they hate each other like poison, yet can’t keep 


PLANS AHEAD 


191 

warm on cold nights without being close together, 
which means scrapping all the time. Jolly partners! 
Ho, ho ! ” 

The Frenchman was chuckling. Jim, too, laughed 
as he pictured the scene. 

“ And all about home rule?” queried the latter. 

“ That was the beginning of the quarrel, they say. 
You see even out of Ireland there are rival factions, 
and in this case two Irishmen are sufficient to keep up 
the fighting.” 

“ You’re friends with both? ” 

“ I’m friends with neither. But when I come across 
Reilly alone we may exchange a word, or I may say 
‘good day’ to Burke if it is he I chance to meet — 
which is more civility than they show each other, even 
though they are in partnership. If an offer came 
along they would sell out quick enough. But it must 
be to an outsider — they wouldn’t sell to each other, 
not for all the money in the world. If one was left in 
possession, some night the other would be shooting at 
the log house before a week went past.” 

“ A nice team to run a cattle ranch and share the 
same home,” remarked Jim, drily. “ However, as you 
said from the first, Francois, that’s just my opportun- 
ity. I have now pretty accurately in my mind all the 
details. Their joint filings under the Desert Act were 
for 640 acres, and they got their cowboys to act as 
dummies for 640 acres more, making two square miles 
in all.” 

Francois nodded assent, and Jim continued : 

“ And without any muster you know pretty nearly 
the number of stock they are running.” 


192 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ I know the number better than they do them- 
selves, affirmed the Frenchman. 

“ Well, these are the two factors to fix the buying 
out price. But at this stage it will be best for me to 
leave the matter entirely in your hands. You can get 
next to Reilly and Burke without setting their cupidity 
on fire or making them go up in the air as to selling 
terms. Try them out separately, and get a figure from 
each so that when I throw out an offer they’ll be likely 
to jump at it. Cash down, remember — I’m going to 
have the spot cash to lay on the table. That’s the way 
to rope in fellows like these every time.” 

“ But your own land — you haven’t sold your own 
land yet, Jim.” 

“ Don’t worry about that. I had a wire today in- 
structing me to be on the lookout for a special train 
due tomorrow about noon.” 

“ Officials of the line? ” 

“ No, sir. A special train filled with land-boomers 
and town-builders — so the private word was tipped 
me by an operator along the line. Well, they can start 
no boom here without my land, that’s a cinch. You 
say you will be in Yuma Saturday? ” 

The Frenchman nodded assent. 

“ Then kindly fetch me out a strip of leather, about 
so long. I’m going to make myself a money belt — 
have just taken a fancy to sew it with my own hands, 
for old time’s sake, Francois.” 

Lavigne did not understand the last allusion, but he 
promised to bring the leather along, together with sun- 
dry tools and furnishings that would ensure the job 
being a good one. 


CHAPTER XXII 


DESERT COMBERS 



HE trainload of town-builders and land-boomers 


duly arrived — a motley assemblage, young men, 
middle-aged men, and old men, together with a sprink- 
ling of women whose eagerness in the hunt for specula- 
tive lots or acres was even more keen than in the case 
of the masculine members of the party. When the 
special had glided down the grade and been side- 
tracked at the switch, they spread themselves over the 
landscape like a swarm of locusts. 

Lavigne had remained with Jim to take in the spec- 
tacle. The two men stood together in front of the 
depot office, watching the scene and reading the signs. 
The whole thing was very strange and new to Jim 
Marshall, but he shrewdly sized up the situation. 

“ These are not real settlers — just a bunch of spec- 
ulators. But I suppose that’s the way the booming of 
a town begins.” 

“ Sure,” assented Lavigne. “ Money has to come 
in first, for streets have to be laid out and graded, 
blocks subdivided, and so on. First the land agent’s 
office goes up, next the storekeeper arrives, then a 
hotel; a lumber yard sprouts overnight, soon a bank 
blossoms forth, and your town is on the map for all 
time.” 

“ Or until the bubble bursts,” laughed Jim. “ But 
193 


194 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


there will be no bubble this time,” he went on, de- 
cisively. “ Now that the high-line canal has come, the 
land round about here can be made an oasis in the 
desert. Besides don’t forget, Francois, my friend, that 
Submarine Junction is going to be a real railroad junc- 
tion at last.” 

“ That’s what I want. The cross line from Needles 
will help me — it will add a hundred per cent to the 
value of my land — and yours too, Jim; I mean the 
Reilly-Burke acres.” 

“ Well, I’ve got to get them first. But I’m not wor- 
rying. They are coming my way, I feel assured. 
There must be no delay, however, or those Irishmen 
will be waking up to the fact that the booming of Sub- 
marine eventually means the booming of the river 
lands as well.” 

While he spoke his eyes were fixed on a group of 
three men who were standing just beyond the depot. 
One of them had opened up a map, which was being 
carefully examined. 

“ Look at those fellows, Francois,” Jim went on, di- 
recting his companion’s attention. “ I should say they 
represent the business brains of the entire outfit. See, 
they are pointing in the direction of the cross line sur- 
vey. And now, just as I expected, they are coming 
along here. They are going to pump the station agent 
for information.” 

Jim’s surmise was quite correct, for when the party 
had approached and exchanged a preliminary “ good- 
day,” the very first question asked was where exactly 
the survey for the branch line to the north ran. 

“ You are the station agent, I presume,” added the 


DESERT COMBERS 


195 


spokesman of the trio, an elderly man, addressing Jim. 
He had correctly differentiated between the latter’s 
work-a-day shirt sleeves and the rancher’s somewhat 
more elaborate costume. 

“ That’s what I am,” assented Jim. 

“ Then you know about the proposed cross line ? ” 

“ Certainly. If you cast your eye just to the left of 
that bunch of mesquite you’ll see the survey stakes. 
They run due north from there, as you’ll observe.” 

Out came the map again, and its details were eagerly 
consulted. Whispered words were exchanged among 
the party. 

Again the spokesman addressed an inquiry. He 
pointed to the only habitation in sight. 

“ I suppose you live in that cottage? ” 

“ Right once more,” smiled Jim. 

“ Then it is on railroad land ? ” 

“ No, sir. The railroad owns no land here except 
the tracks and the depot.” 

“ Not your own house, is it? ” 

“ Guess it’s mine all right. I homesteaded 160 acres 
when I took my job here three years ago.” 

Swift looks of surprise were exchanged among the 
trio. 

“ May I ask how your land lies? ” was the next 
query. 

“ Step this way,” replied Jim, moving clear of the 
station building. “ From this point you can see my 
four corner posts. Two, east and west, close to the 
railroad tracks ; the others to the south there, just this 
side of the high-line canal survey stakes.” He pointed 
in the indicated directions. 


196 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ So the main thoroughfare of any town must go 
right through your land ? ” exclaimed the inquirer, al- 
most incredulously. 

“ That’s so.” 

“ Well, it looks as if the whole place belonged to 
you.” The speaker turned to his friends, a rasp of 
irritation in his tone. 

“ Just as I figured/’ grinned Jim, “ when I made my 
filing.” 

“ Here’s a pretty complication.” 

Jim overheard the sotto voce remark addressed to the 
other two members of the party. Again a private con- 
fabulation followed. The homesteader turned indif- 
ferently to his friend, as he drew a corn-cob pipe from 
his hip-pocket. 

“ Got any tobacco, Mr. Lavigne. Mine’s in the of- 
fice.” 

The rancher produced a little sack. 

“ Help yourself, Mr. Marshall.” 

Both smiled imperceptibly. They were not accus- 
tomed to this ceremonious style of address. 

Meanwhile the map was being yet once again care- 
fully scrutinized, and tiny crosses were being pen- 
cilled, showing approximately the four corners of the 
homestead acreage. 

“ A God-forsaken place this, ain’t it? ” observed the 
youngest of the trio, as he folded the paper and re- 
turned it to his pocket. His remark was addressed 
generally to the two local men. 

“ Oh, not so bad,” replied Lavigne. “ With the 
high-line canal here, it will be as good as Imperial be- 
fore another year.” 


DESERT COMBERS 


197 


“ Perhaps/’ interjected the leader of the party, with 
a dubious shake of his head. “ If a town comes to be 
built, it may be so. But without a town land around 
here will continue to be of mighty small account. I 
suppose you would relinquish your holding for a small 
sum? ” — this to Jim. 

“ What do you call a small sum ? ” queried the latter. 

“ Oh, say $10 an acre.” 

Jim v smiled. 

“ We would also pay for your improvements — the 
cottage over there,” suggested the young fellow with 
the map. 

“ I reckon you have to bid again, gentlemen,” was 
Jim’s dry rejoinder. 

“ Well, what’s your figure anyhow ? ” 

“ Land in the Imperial Valley brings $500 per acre.” 
prompted Lavigne. 

“ Poof ! This is not Imperial,” said the leader. 

The words came contemptuously, while the speaker 
with studied nonchalance drew a cigar from his waist- 
coat pocket and bit off its tip. 

“ No, it is better than Imperial,” said Jim quickly. 
“ This is going to be the S. P. railroad junction for all 
the rich river lands between here and Needles.” 

“ And a rich agricultural section itself, too,” added 
Lavigne. 

“ Oh, I see how you are figuring,” retorted the 
stranger. “ It is always the same. Just so soon as 
capital shows its willingness to come in and build a 
town, the local people put a price on their Joshuas and 
their jack rabbits as if they were orange trees and fat 
beeves. The old hold-up game; I’ve been up against 


198 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


it a score of times. Well, boys, I guess we’ll be mov- 
ing along ” — this to his comrades. “ Submarine don’t 
impress me as a townsite proposition anyways. How 
soon can our train start? ” he went on, again turning to 
the station agent. 

“ The line is clear just now right to Yuma, I be- 
lieve,” Jim answered. “ But I’ll telegraph and make 
sure. The next siding is at Cactus, twenty miles 
along.” 

“ Well, I guess we’ll have a look at Cactus,” replied 
the other, as he struck a match and lit his cigar. 

Jim had already stalked away to his office, from 
which a moment later could be faintly heard the tap, 
tap of the telegraph keys. 

The trio were in close consultation. Lavigne made 
no attempt to listen. But he stood his ground, await- 
ing Jim’s return. 

At last the spokesman turned to the rancher. 

“Do you know his price? Guess he is trying to 
bluff us when he talks about this damned patch of 
desert being equal to Imperial.” 

“ I don’t know his price,” Lavigne replied. “ But I 
guess he doesn’t want to sell. He’ll be able to patent 
his land now in a very short time.” 

“ Are you ranching here ? ” The question was put 
affably. 

“ About twenty miles to the north, near the river. 
This is the station to which I bring my wool and my fat 
sheep for the Los Angeles market. Great market, Los 
Angeles. Growing all the time.” 

“ That’s where we come from. But one acre near 


DESERT COMBERS 


199 


Los Angeles is worth two hundred acres in this devil’s 
garden of sage and greasewood.” 

“Then why don’t you stay at home?” asked ba- 
vigne, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 

The question remained unanswered. Jim was re- 
turning. 

“ Line clear to Cactus,” he announced. “ You can 
tell your conductor to pull out right now. If you stay 
longer you may be held up till midnight.” 

“ Heaven forbid ! Go over, Brown, and get the en- 
gineer to toot his whistle. Guess the bunch have had 
about enough of this attractive seaside resort. Sub- 
marine Junction! Sand Dune Park would have been 
a fitter name.” He laughed at his own sarcastic pleas- 
antry. 

The individual addressed as Brown started off to- 
ward the switch. The leader and the young man with 
the map remained. 

“ Well, Mr. Marshall,” said the former — “ Mr. 
Marshall is your name, I believe? ” He spoke now in 
a pleasant and conciliatory tone. 

“ Jim Marshall,” assented the owner of the name. 

“ You haven’t given us your figure yet.” 

“ You didn’t wait to get it. You flew off the handle 
with your talk about a hold-up game.” 

“ Oh, pardon me. I was a bit taken by surprise 
when your friend tried to compare this place with Im- 
perial. While I have no intention of buying here, all 
the same I’d like to know the price you put upon your 
land.” 

“ Two hundred dollars per acre,” replied Jim, 


200 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


quietly. “ Spot cash. Currency — I don’t want to be 
troubled with any check. Out here checks are not in 
my line.” 

“ What? Thirty-two thousand dollars for a desert 
homestead! Preposterous! Absurd!” The old rasp 
in the voice returned; the words rang with unfeigned, 
if chagrined, surprise. 

“ Not a desert homestead now,” smiled back the 
land-holder. “ The site of a railroad junction town. 
And in any case worth more than $200 to me when 
the high-line canal is completed and I can bring my 
acreage under cultivation. 

The locomotive whistle sounded three prolonged 
blasts, and the crowd began to scurry toward the siding 
from all points of the compass. 

“ Good day,” said Jim. “ I’ve got to pass along 
your train.” 

He departed for his office. The two strangers 
nodded goodby to Lavigne, and moved off, slowly and 
half reluctantly, for the cars. They were talking earn- 
estly to each other as they walked along. Lavigne 
watched them with a smile upon his sun-browned coun- 
tenance. 

Soon the train was loaded with its passengers. The 
station agent was giving some final instructions to the 
conductor. The young man who carried the map in 
his pocket descended again, hurried along the line of 
cars, and drew Jim aside. 

“ Would you be prepared to take $100 per acre? ” he 
asked. 

“ Not on your life,” was the decisive reply. “ My 
price is fixed.” 


DESERT COMBERS 


201 


“ Then will you give me an option for a couple of 
months ? ” 

“ Not for a couple of days. First come, first served, 
my friend.” 

As he spoke he waved a signalling hand to the con- 
ductor, and the latter in turn signalled to the engineer 
leaning out of his cab. The locomotive bell clanged, 
the couplings creaked, and the car wheels began slowly 
to revolve. 

“ There’s my card,” said the departing stranger. 
“ If you change your mind send me a wire.” 

“ There will be no wire,” responded Jim with a 
meaning smile. “ Perhaps you’ll find Cactus more to 
your liking anyhow.” 

“ All aboard,” cried the conductor peremptorily; and 
the last of the land-boomers scrambled on to a car. 

Jim for a moment watched the departing train. 
Then he glanced at the card. It almost dropped from 
his fingers when he read the name : 

Burn Hopkins 
Attorney-at-Law 
Los Angeles 

But he quickly recovered his equanimity. 

“ By Jove, that’s funny,” he murmured. “ That we 
should meet at last — and here.” 

Lavigne strolled up. 

“ Nothing doing, eh? ” 

“ Mebbe so, mebbe the other way about,” replied 
Jim. But don’t forget that bit of leather from Yuma, 
Francois. I want it here by Monday next. I kind o’ 
fancy I’ll have a use for it before very long.” 


202 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Then it’s home for me now,” replied the rancher, 
as he moved toward his wagon, standing all ready 
hitched on the shady side of the freight house. 

He had soon climbed onto the box seat and was 
holding the reins in his hand. Pausing for a moment 
to look over the landscape, Francois exclaimed: 

“ I say, Jim, who knows but this will be a big city 
one of these days? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Jim, “who knows — who knows? 
It takes men to build cities, and that man Burn Hop- 
kins and his associates look like very forceful fellows. 
Perhaps, Francois, you remember the old verse that 
runs like this : 

Cities are not great except as men may make them; 
Men are not great , except they do and dare. 

Yet cities, like men, have destinies that take them — 
That bear them on, not knowing ztthy, nor where. 

“ Very good,” laughed Francois, as he shook the 
reins and clucked to his horses. “ Very good indeed, 
Jim. But if they pay you the price, why, tuck it away 
in the leather belt which I will surely bring you on my 
next trip here.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


jim’s first deal 

D AY followed day in ordinary routine. Lavigne 
had brought the leather, together with buckle, 
studs, eyelet rims, and the necessary tools. So Jim 
Marshall had been able to devote his leisure hours to 
the fashioning of a money belt that might have earned 
a prize for skilled workmanship. It was strong, sup- 
ple, and finely sewn, and, as it gave no sign of its real 
purpose, he began to wear it, just to get accustomed to 
its use, as he laughingly told himself. For he felt con- 
vinced that, surely as dawn follows night, the filling 
of the belt was now only a matter of a little time. 

So he experienced no surprise when one night there 
swung down from the Los Angeles express a passen- 
ger whom he promptly recognized as the young attor- 
ney, Burn Hopkins. Until the train pulled out again 
his official duties occupied his attention. The new 
arrival waited patiently, standing beside his grip. 
When Jim advanced, he held out a cordial hand. 

“ I’ve brought the dough, Mr. Marshall,” he said 
gaily, without making any attempt to beat around the 
bush. “ Pm not here to dicker, but just to pay, for, as 
I said to my principals from the start, I knew that your 
mind was finally made up. And the land is worth 
$200 per acre, that’s certain, so it is simply a square 
deal for all parties concerned.” 

203 


204 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Not even by the quiver of an eyelid did Jim Marshall 
display either surprise or undue gratification. 

“ I knew the figure was right,” he replied simply, 
“ or I wouldn’t have fixed it. I am satisfied, and am 
sure you fellows can earn a fine profit from the deal. 
That’s as it should be. The men who bring in capital 
tor developing a country like this deserve a very liberal 
reward.” 

“ Well, all that remains to be done is for you to sign 
your relinquishment. I brought along the necessary 
form. And I didn’t forget your request for currency. 
I have the cash with me, all in thousand dollar bills.” 

Jim smiled pleasedly. 

“ I’m glad to do business with a man like you, Mr. 
Hopkins. Regard for another’s wishes saves a lot of 
time. Now I suppose you’ll want to book a room at 
your hotel.” 

“ My hotel,” laughed the visitor, glancing around the 
moonlit desert scene. 

“ Oh, my cottage does duty for a hotel once in a 
while. You’ll be my very welcome guest, sir.” 

“Well, just a corner to sleep in — that’s all I re- 
quire. I had my supper on the dining car, and I be- 
lieve I can catch a west-bound train early in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ Seven-thirty-five,” replied the station agent. 
“ Well, just wait till I turn the key in my office door. 
Then we’ll cross over. Not that my office needs lock- 
ing,” he resumed, dangling the key on a finger as he 
returned to the attorney’s side. “ Let me take your 
grip, please. As I was going to remark, hoboes used 
to make this a stopping place over night, but they know 


JIM’S FIRST DEAL 


205 


better than to do that nowadays. My plan was to put 
them under the spigot of one of the water tanks over 
there, and if they weren’t afraid of Jim Marshall they 
were mighty scared of the cold water, I can tell you. 
Submarine Junction is now known as the Shower Bath 
among the villainous crew of desert thieves.” 

Jim was laughing with quiet satisfaction, but he kept 
his own counsel. His companion little knew of the 
score that had even yet, in Jim’s reckoning, to be paid 
off by the yeggman fraternity. 

“ I’m almost sorry they stopped coming,” the station 
agent went on, “ for the shower bath kind o’ livened 
up things at times.” 

Hopkins too had laughed. 

“ Yes, I guess it’s pretty lonesome here. So my 
friend Ned Collier has told me.” 

“Oh, you know Ned Collier, do you?” asked Jim 
with well assumed surprise. 

“ Yes. In a way he is the real original boomer of 
Submarine Junction. It was he who first told me of 
the possibilities of this place — just indicated them, 
you know. But I was quick enough to catch on, and 
when I read that the high-line canal project was going 
to materialize at last, was Johnny-on-the-Spot with 
data for my syndicate.” 

“ Ned is a bright boy,” remarked Jim. 

They had now stepped onto the cottage veranda. 

“ You see, I have a spare stretcher,” continued the 
host, “ all ready for you or any other friend that may 
blow in. Sure I can’t get a bite of supper ready for 
you ? No ? Well, I myself have supped or dined, call 
it what you will.” 


206 the man who discovered himself 


“ I would suggest we get through with our little busi- 
ness first of all,” suggested the visitor. “ Oh, just 
leave the grip out here. Eve the bills in my pocket- 
book. Thank you,” he added, as Jim held open the 
door leading to the inner room where a lamp was 
already alight, turned low. 

Within a brief space of time the relinquishment 
paper had been signed and witnessed, and the fat wad 
of thirty-two thousand-dollar bills transferred. No 
receipt passed — that would have violated the law. 
But the attorney explained that he had scrip in his grip 
which next day at the land office in San Bernardino 
would secure a clear and unencumbered title to the 
land, once the new filing had been made, immediately 
after the lodging of the relinquishment. 

“ Smoke? ” asked the attorney after the satisfactory 
conclusion of the business. He had produced a cigar 
case from his pocket. 

“ Thanks,” assented Jim. “ But suppose we sit out 
on the porch. It is cooler there.” 

The guest assented, and for an hour they puffed 
their weeds, the attorney in placid contentment over 
the successful completion of his mission, Jim, in listen- 
ing mood, discreetly allowing the visitor to do most 
of the talking. 

He dared not put any leading questions, but an in- 
quiry how Ned, his predecessor in the station agent’s 
job, was getting along, led to some remarks that were 
full of interest. 

Ned was doing well — in line for steady promotion. 
Hopkins met him quite often at the home of his mother- 
in-law, Mrs. Marsh Gordon, a well-known painter 


JIM'S FIRST DEAL 


207 


on china. He sometimes thought that Ned was a bit 
sweet on Bessie, the younger daughter. He himself 
had married Bernice, the elder daughter, and their first 
baby had arrived only a week ago. 

Jim’s heart thumped like a trip hammer. But he 
managed to speak quite composedly. 

“ My congratulations. All going well ? ” 

“ Sure, or do you imagine I’d be here? A bounc- 
ing boy, nine and a quarter pounds, and both mother 
and child getting along splendidly. Now, Mr. Mar- 
shall, as I’ve got to be up early, I think I’ll turn in, by 
your leave.” 

The host arranged his guest’s bed, folding down the 
cover and shaking the pillow. He himself would take 
a little stroll — his regular habit every night, as he ex- 
plained. 

In the solitude of the brooding desert, out under the 
moon and the faintly twinkling stars, Jim Marshall 
mused on all the wonders that were coming to him. 
He was a grandfather now. Thank God! He had 
often been afraid that Bernice might have been affected 
by her mother’s theories of birth control. God be 
praised it was not so. He was of the old-fashioned 
school, prepared and glad to accept the gifts of Provi- 
dence just as they came along. And what greater gift 
than a child in the home ? 

The moonlight made things almost as bright as day, 
and he counted over again his roll of currency. Thirty- 
two thousand dollars! One half was certainly Ned’s, 
the other his own. Ned had refused point blank 
to divide, but that made no difference with Jim Mar- 
shall. Ned must take the share that was properly his 


2o8 the man who discovered himself 


— it was even through him that the prompt deal had 
been made. 

Alone and in the solemn quietude of the night Jim 
thought out his subsequent plans. Lavigne was due 
at the station the day after tomorrow. He would get 
him to arrange a meeting with the pugnacious Irishmen 
in Yuma, where they conducted their business affairs 
and therefore visited at frequent intervals, keeping each 
other company because of their mutual distrust, per- 
haps also for the pleasure of quarreling most of the 
time. 

Meanwhile Jim would send in his resignation to rail- 
way headquarters, giving a month’s notice if necessary. 
For despite his sudden access of wealth, he would, as a 
matter of course, continue the faithful discharge of his 
duties until proper arrangements could be made to fill 
his place. No doubt there might be only a few days’ 
delay in appointing his successor, and then he would be 
free to go to Yuma — the very town, curiously enough, 
for which he was making nearly four years before 
when Ned saved his life on the railroad tracks. 

The meeting with Reilly and Burke in Yuma would 
have to appear to be a chance one. All that was thor- 
oughly understood between himself and Lavigne. 

Now that Jim Marshall was entering on big business, 
the native shrewdness of his character, hitherto re- 
pressed, was beginning to display itself. He had in his 
mind a certain price for the Reilly-Burke land and 
stock — a perfectly just price, he held, considering 
their benighted methods of running the cattle ranch. 
But the offer would have to be sprung on the sellers 
suddenly, to accept or reject, with a bunch of the crisp 


JIM’S FIRST DEAL 


209 


one-thousand-dollar bills as bait that would most likely 
prove irresistible. For the deal at Jim’s figure would 
undoubtedly have to be closed there and then. Other- 
wise, if the terms came to be talked over with out- 
siders, Reilly and his partner would be sure to receive 
any amount of gratuitous advice about enhanced land 
values through the building of the high-line canal, 
although in point of fact, this improvement had only a 
remote connection with their holdings. 

The new railroad was different. However, those 
thriftless, ignorant cattlemen probably knew little or 
nothing about the project. Moreover it was still in 
the air — very much in the air. But if Jim did secure 
possession of the ranch, it was part of his ultimate 
plans to revive interest in the spur line — Lavigne and 
he were going to put their shoulders to the wheel to 
make the railroad authorities carry out the work, or 
alternatively they would raise capital for an independ- 
ent line. In all these subsequent endeavors Reilly and 
Burke would have no part or share, so that the just 
price for their land now was present value and noth- 
ing more. 

Jim was quite clear to his own conscience. He was 
going to take advantage of no one, but he was de- 
termined to get that land. In its present owners’ 
hands it was comparatively valueless, while under his 
control it would become the foundation of a big for- 
tune — just how colossal a fortune Jim did not care 
to speculate. 

For the present he was content yet once more to 
count the money of which less than a moiety would, no 
doubt, enable him to put through the deal. He did so, 


2io THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


then carefully stowed the bills into his belt, and finally 
turned his footsteps toward home. 

Burn Hopkins was already asleep on his stretcher 
on the porch. 

It was half-past six o’clock next morning when the 
guest was awakened with the genial cry: “ Breakfast 
all ready in the dining car — first and last call.” 

Jim stood laughing in the doorway, a big toasting 
fork in his hand. 

Coffee, rashers of bacon, fried eggs, hot biscuits — 
the young attorney had never enjoyed a meal better in 
all his life. And a little later he was waving goodby 
to his host from the observation platform of the west- 
ward-bound express. 

Jim Marshall was once more alone. A fancy came 
to him. He went to the freight platform, and stepped 
upon the scales. 

“One hundred and sixty-eight pounds! Gee? 
That’s what good old Submarine has done. for me in 
less than four years. Seventy-seven pounds gained 
from the old skin and bone days, and ten dollars of 
capital converted into sixteen thousand for me and 
another sixteen thousand for Ned. Great Scott! 
That’s certainly going some.” And, thinking of the 
former emaciated and impoverished times, he patted 
his belt-line with proud satisfaction — the proper 
girth was now there, and the money as well. 

“ But it is not,” mused Jim, “ what a man has but 
rather what he is and will be that need interest one’s 
friends. Every truly great man is stronger for an ex- 
perience and with his increased strength should come 
increased gentleness.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


ADIOS, SUBMARINE 

XXT’HEN Marsh Gordon had arrived at Submarine, 
* * he was a minus quantity as regards personal be- 
longings. He had had only one thing left to lose, and 
had promptly lost that, too — his name. But with his 
lost identity he had found a friend. And friendship 
is a pearl without price — the silken girdle that binds 
the hearts of men together in eternal bonds — the sub- 
lime solace which is not fully appreciated until all else 
is lost. 

During the closing weeks of his service as station 
agent, serene in the consciousness that he was equipped 
now with the weapon that could not fail to open the 
way leading to the achievement of big things, he fell 
into the habit of writing down his thoughts. One 
night, during an hour of musing, he had been asking 
himself the question: “ What is success ?” Now 
that the ripe fruit was so near to his hand, what did 
it really mean for him? Material gain counted for 
very little indeed. Spiritual happiness derived from 
the helping of his fellow-men — that surely was the 
true goal. With the philosophy of his meditations 
still in mind, he reached for a writing-pad, and this is 
what he wrote : 

“ Success belongs to the man who has lived, labored, 
laughed and loved; who has plucked the priceless jewel 
of noble character from the furnace of life’s sacrificial 
21 1 


2i2 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


struggle; who has walked with his God across sun- 
parched deserts to serve a friend; who has been kind 
and gentle to little children and thereby won their 
love ; who has also been generous to the poor in purse, 
inspiring hope in the hearts of the hopeless; whose 
heart is a reservoir of contentment, reflecting the glow 
of an undimmed conscience upon a face of cheerful- 
ness; whose life has been clean and free from taint, 
from lust and greed and avarice; whose love for his 
mother and wife and children has been so true that 
all womankind challenge his respect; who has substi- 
tuted the love of greatness for the greatness of love, 
and by thought and deed has served the world in which 
he lives, transforming arid wastes into verdant vale 
and flowering dale ; whose sympathy has lightened the 
burden of oppressed labor; who has given the best 
within him to his fellows; who has turned the feet of 
the profane to the higher walks of life and thus saved 
a soul; who has discovered the noblest qualities in 
others ; whose life has been an inspiration to friend and 
a rebuke to foe, and whose memory in after years will 
be a benediction worthy the floral gifts brought by 
loved ones to his tomb. With such a cumulative rec- 
ord, life is a success, though the man die a prince or a 
pauper.” 

After penning the above sentences, carefully, paus- 
ing here and there for a word, at times' amending a 
phrase, he leaned back in his chair, and once more 
fell to ruminating. So love was the only true and 
sure foundation of success. 

“ Now what is love? ” — this was the next and con- 


ADIOS, SUBMARINE 


213 


sequential question he was asking himself. After a 
time he reached once more for his pen, and the answer 
flowed from it as follows: 

“ Love is the ‘ beginning,’ the ‘ span,’ and the ‘ end- 
ing ’ of every mortal who regards the jewel of the 
soul as the true riches of earth, and immortality’s 
crown in the life beyond, where the Great King reigns, 
as the only thing worth striving for, the one reward for 
unselfish living. 

“ Humanity demands, conscience approves, and all 
that is good in the world applauds the genial and glow- 
ing warmth of honest love, whether it is between hus- 
band and wife, parent and child, sister and brother, 
the ‘ lassie ’ for her ‘ laddie,’ the love of a dog for its 
master or the master’s love for his dog, or the love 
universal in the heart of man for the Infinite. 

“ Love now. Love always — today, tomorrow, and 
for evermore. Do not seal up for future use the spirit 
within you of * man’s humanity to man.’ Dispense 
gentleness and sympathy, tenderness and love, ever 
keeping the best within you awake and actively doing 
deeds of goodness to your brother men. Never forget, 
as the poet Nixon Waterman has beautifully expressed 
it, that ‘ a rose to the living is worth more than sumptu- 
ous wreaths to the dead.’ 

“ The more sight drafts of sympathy you pay with 
the * golden coin ’ of rational, sincere love, the stronger 
you will become and the more dividends you can and 
will distribute by the wayside to the meek and the 
lowly who are famishing all about you for just ‘ old- 
fashioned ’ kindness. 


214 the man who discovered himself 


“ Give consideration and charity in ‘ full measure 
pressed down.’ Do not wait for death to stimulate 
your sympathy. Post-mortem pr.o testations of love 
are usually an idle pretence — not only an insult to the 
memory of the departed but evidence irrefragable of 
hypocrisy. Tie up every unhappy incident of the past 
into bundles of the forgotten, and throw them over- 
board as useless ballast. It is present love that counts. 
Love now, love ever.” 

With these thoughts in his mind Jim arose and 
slowly paced the room. It was close on midnight, 
and it was the last night in the little cottage where 
he had lived his desert life of loneliness, yet of happi- 
ness, the memory of which now filled his heart with 
overflowing gratitude to the kind Providence that had 
guided his steps to the haven of Submarine and the 
helpful hand of Ned Collier. 

Ned Collier — to whom, as man to man, he owed 
so much, his all. He drew from his pocket Ned’s last 
letter, and stopped beside the lamp to peruse once again 
a certain passage it contained. This passage was a 
gay but very determined refusal to share the profits 
from the homestead land. “ Not on your life, old 
boy,” the sentence ran. “ I am making my own way 
in the world, you are making yours. More power to 
your good right arm! The land was yours, its price 
is yours. And don’t forget how at the very start I 
warned you about violating the law. My sharing now 
would be collusion — flagrant collusion. No federal 
penitentiary for this here child! I stand for the law 
all the time, and so do you, Jim. No doubt you could 


ADIOS, SUBMARINE 


215 


slip me that cash all right without anyone but our- 
selves being the wiser. But remember conscience, my 
friend — the conscience about which you used to speak 
to me so many words of wisdom, the conscience that 
never slumbers, that judges a man to himself, that 
pricks and wounds through life even when its owner 
may pretend to smile. Get thee behind me, Satan! 
You’ll make grand use of all that money, Jim — far 
grander use than I could ever hope to make with any 
part of it — not for yourself alone, for I know your 
unselfish nature, but for all around you. You will be 
able now to carry into effect your gospel of love, to 
build for the success which will make you more useful 
still to humanity at large. Go ahead and prosper, just 
as I am doing, thanks in no small measure to your 
teachings during that glorious period of our comrade- 
ship. Sometimes I didn’t seem to be listening, eh? 
when you used to deliver those grand orations. But 
you see I was absorbing them all the time, like a suck- 
ling child.” 

Over Jim’s features came a smile of ineffable love 
and contentment. “ God bless that boy,” he fervently 
murmured. Then he resumed his seat and his pen. 

“ Dear old Ned: 

“ Tomorrow morning I leave Submarine for Yuma. 
So this is just a line to supplement my usual weekly 
letter. I am only going to refer to that division of 
profits. Your argument does not hold good. Let us 
forget the past ; share with me simply for the present. 
Read the enclosed lucubrations about Success and 
Love. It was your letter in your absence that prompted 


2 16 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


me to put these thoughts on paper. You will see that 
by advising me to selfishness you would make me 'deny 
my own creed of what life should be. 

“ However, if you still persist, remember so do I. 
Whenever I get to Yuma, your $16,000 goes into a 
bank, old man, there to accumulate interest until you 
ask for a settlement of accounts between us. I note 
what you say about my making profitable use of the 
money. Perhaps I can, perhaps I will. But none of 
it shall ever go out of the bank without the best col- 
lateral. So just as soon as you repent of your ob- 
stinacy, Ned, you may call on me for principal and 
interest to date at any time. These will be my last 
words on the subject, partner, for the present at all 
events. 

“ Your old chum, Jim.” 

He folded the letter, enclosed it in an envelope with 
•the two writings he had previously made, and inscribed 
the address. Next he took from his pocket a little 
bundle of envelopes, ten or a dozen in number, held to- 
gether by an india-rubber band. He drew forth one; 
there was already a typewritten address upon it — Mrs. 
Marsh Gordon, Venice-by-the-Sea, California. 

Within the envelope was a blank sheet of yellow 
paper. Opening one pouch of his money belt, Jim 
produced a wad of currency — mostly one-hundred- 
dollar bills, with some of smaller denominations, change 
for one of the thousand-dollar bills, which Lavigne 
had brought to him a few days previously from Yuma. 
Wrapping a one-hundred-dollar bill in the yellow blank, 


ADIOS, SUBMARINE 


217 


he moistened ttie flap of the envelope, Anally placing 
it under a heavy book so that it should be well sealed 
without the aid of sealing wax that might have directed 
attention to its possibly valuable contents. A few 
minutes later he affixed postage stamps both to this let- 
ter and to the one for Ned, then bestowed the two 
missives in his pocket. 

Again he surveyed the little room. The book shelves 
alone were bare — the volumes had been boxed and 
taken away by Lavigne, to be kept temporarily in his 
care. Everything else in sight Jim left for his suc- 
cessor. Naked he had come to Submarine, naked he 
would depart. It was a -land agent who would come 
into possession early on the morrow. For the cottage 
had passed to the buyers of the homestead, and already 
there was a sprinkling of tepees up and down both 
sides of the line — temporary dwellings of first town 
settlers awaiting the arrival of lumber wherewith to 
build their homes. 

The new station agent was making his quarters 
meanwhile in the depot — the railway company was 
going to put up a house for him appropriate to the 
new town. Jim had surrendered office that very after- 
noon. Tomorrow morning early he would swing onto 
the eastward-bound express from Los Angeles. 

“ So in a few hours from now it will be adios 
to good old Submarine,” he murmured, as he began 
to disrobe for the last time in his desert home. 

Jim was thinking and dreaming. “ Yes,” he said 
aloud, “ money is the punctuation point that ends all 
sentences, whether spoken or written, and determines 


218 the man who discovered himself 


the direction of the compass, even though it leads us 
among the ruder things of earth. In most lives yes- 
terday is a memory, today a reality, and tomorrow a 
vision.” 


V 


CHAPTER XXV 


AN OLD FRIEND 

N EXT day Jim Marshall was in Yuma. He took 
a room at the best hotel. He then repaired to a 
clothing store, and fitted himself out with new gar- 
ments from top to toe. He made no choice of fash- 
ionable clothes — just the suitable wear for a rancher, 
trousers and coat of serviceable drab olive, blue shirt, 
flowing tie, and fine big sombrero, all of the best. In 
this by no means unpicturesque garb, he looked a fine 
figure of a man — tall, erect, stalwart, with health of 
body reflected in the clear eye and ruddy sun-tanned 
complexion. 

Next he bought himself a watch, one of the best 
standard makes, in a solid gold case and with a solid 
gold chain, of neat and unobtrusive pattern, to match 
it. He continued his purchases — boots, underwear, 
handkerchiefs, comb, brushes, a supply of blades for 
his safety razor — nothing was forgotten. Then, 
with a couple of good-sized grips, he counted his out- 
fitting, for the present at all events, as complete. 

At the hour he knew the westward-bound Sunset 
Limited would be due he sauntered back to the railway 
station. There he posted on the mail car the two mis- 
sives he had carried with him from Submarine — the 
one addressed to Mrs. Marsh Gordon containing the 
219 


220 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


hundred-dollar bill, the other to Ned Collier carrying 
the message in regard to the division of profits from 
the land deal. Midday dinner was now in order, for 
Francois Lavigne would not arrive till evening. 

While shopping and strolling through the town, Jim 
had carefully scrutinized various bank windows, and 
it had been without surprise that he noted inscribed on 
one of them, among the list of officials, the name 
of Michael O’Meara, vice-president. He had often 
thought of the kind-hearted rancher who had be- 
friended him in the hour of pained humiliation and 
deepest misery. He had not forgotten O’Meara’s 
avowed intention of selling his homestead and return- 
ing to banking pursuits. In Yuma, the nearest town 
of commercial importance, the desert sojourner would 
secure just the same climate that had restored him to 
sound health. So it was quite in the natural order of 
things to find O’Meara here. 

After dinner Jim repaired to the bank. O’Meara 
had not changed a bit, except for his clothes. He 
was visible through the glass panels that screened a 
side room, seated at a desk, going over some papers. 
Jim instantly recognized him, but the banker received 
his visitor with the formality due to a complete 
stranger. 

“ Be seated, please,” he said, indicating a vacant 
chair. “ What can I do for you? ” 

“ Well, I wish to open an account,” replied Jim with 
a quiet smile. “ But before I do so, Mr. O’Meara, 
I want to ask you whether you remember me.” 

“ I certainly don’t recollect seeing you before,” re- 
plied the banker, half in apology. 


AN OLD FRIEND 


221 


“ Well, you once provided me with a bed among 
your alfalfa haystacks, you gave me my breakfast, you 
fitted me out with a fine Mexican hat, and you loaned 
me five dollars.” 

“What!” exclaimed O’Meara in profound amaze- 
ment. “ You don’t mean to tell me that you are that 
long, lanky fellow whom the hoboes had stripped of 
his clothes ? ” 

“ I’m the man. I keep that old Mexican hat yet in 
remembrance of your kindness. In my next home Fm 
going to hang it up on the wall.” 

O’Meara was now laughing heartily. 

“ Well, you certainly looked a comical cuss that day 
when you rode off on Dan’s wagon in the tall head- 
piece and your tattered clothes. But I had sized you 
up all right, my friend, so was not one bit surprised 
when, later on, the five dollars I had loaned you re- 
turned. The next fellow who got them wasn’t so hon- 
est. But that’i the way of the world, and one success, 
as it seems I made with you, compensates for all the 
other failures.” 

“ I have always gratefully remembered your kind- 
ness,” murmured Jim. 

“ Oh, we’ll forget that. But you did take kindly 
to my cream ” — the genial Irishman was laughing 
again. “ You lapped it down like a famished kitten.” 

“ Well, I was and am no kitten,” grinned Jim. “ But 
famished — that’s just how I felt when you took me 
into your home. And the cream, I guess, was the 
beginning of my cure. Look at me now,” he added, 
extending his brawny arms in a way that showed the 
condition of a well-trained athlete. 


222 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

“ It’s a miracle, that’s just what it is. But although 
your case looked pretty bad, I had a kind of half 
belief that the desert air would save you, just as it 
had saved me. Your letter with the remittance didn’t 
tell me where you had settled, and you only signed 
yourself — let me see now — yes, yes — Jim. If I 
remember right, that was the name.” 

“ Quite right — Jim Marshall. I’ve been the station 
agent at Submarine Junction for the past three years.” 

“By jingo, you got on well — you certainly made 
good.” 

“ And I was fortunate enough to homestead one of 
the best quarter sections of land there. Between our- 
selves, in signing my relinquishment I made a mighty 
good deal.” 

“Yes, I’ve heard that there is going to be a town 
there at last. The high-line canal will lead to the 
development of all the country around Submarine.” 

“ Well, today, Mr. O’Meara, I want to open an ac- 
count with your bank, but I want it opened in one 
particular way. The account will be in the name of 
Jim Marshall, Trustee, and that is how I’ll sign if I 
ever come to check against it. Probably the deposit 
will remain intact — at least a good proportion of it 
will. What is your rate of interest under these cir- 
cumstances? ” 

“ Three and sometimes four per cent. But look 
here, Marshall, in your special case I’m prepared to 
allow you five per cent on daily balance. How will 
that suit you? And the amount of the deposit?” 

“ Sixteen thousand dollars,” answered Jim as he 
proceeded to unbuckle his money belt. 


AN OLD FRIEND 


223 


“ Holy smoke,” ejaculated O’Meara, “ I had no idea 
of such a large sum or I wouldn’t have named so high 
a rate.” But the banker was smiling pleasedly all the 
same — it was not often that such a fat deposit dropped 
into the bank coffers from the clouds. And money 
could be profitably employed right then, in these days 
of vigorous development all around the country town. 
So O’Meara made no further comment while he 
watched Jim count out sixteen thousand-dollar bills. 
He accepted the currency, checked the amount, and 
touched a buzzer that brought the chief cashier to his 
side. 

Jim continued: 

“ I also want a second account in the name simply 
of Jim Marshall — no word ‘ trustee ’ in this case. I’ll 
check against it in the ordinary way — it will be my 
current account, you understand.” 

Both O’Meara and the cashier nodded. 

“ I am only going to put one thousand dollars to 
the credit of this second account today. Perhaps to- 
morrow or a little- later there will be more to go in. 
Meanwhile, however, here is the amount — one thou- 
sand dollars. Now I’ll be glad to get the pass books 
and my check books — two separate check books, 
please.” 

The cashier departed to his own sanctum, and a few 
minutes later returned with the books and the card for 
the new client’s specimen signature. Jim had resumed 
his belt. After glancing at the entries he placed the 
pass books together with the check books in his coat 
pocket 

“ So you are going to settle in Yuma?” inquired 


224 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


O’Meara, when Jim and he were again alone. “ I 
remember recommending the place to you as a health 
resort. And let me tell you now that it is a fine busi- 
ness place for a man with some capital — couldn’t be 
beat in the whole Southwest. What with the Govern- 
ment dam at Laguna and other water improvements, 
things are booming right along. I'll be glad to put 
you up for membership in the Chamber of Commerce.” 

“ Thanks — after a while,” replied Jim. “ My 
plans are not quite settled yet. Tomorrow, perhaps, 
I’ll know better. Are you acquainted with Mr. Fran- 
cois Lavigne? ” 

“ The rancher up the river ? Oh, yes ; I know about 
him — good solid man. But he doesn’t happen to be 
one of our customers.” 

“ He’s a friend of mine — used to come over regu- 
larly to Submarine Junction to ship out his wool or 
fat sheep. Well, in any case I’m going to pay him 
a little visit. I want to have a look at those river 
valley lands.” 

“ Rich soil, of course. But I’m told they are shy 
of irrigation water in some places. You be on your 
guard, Mr. Marshall. I think I could put you onto 
better land much nearer to Yuma. Let me ring up 
the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce.” 

The banker’s hand was reaching for the telephone, 
but Jim interposed. 

“ Not yet, Mr. O’Meara. I’ll be in town quite likely 
for a few days. There is just one favor I’m going 
to ask. Let us step round to the store where I bought 
this new hat of mine. I want you to accept a hat 
from me for old time’s sake.” 


AN OLD FRIEND 


225 


“ Oh, nonsense,” laughed the banker. “ You are 
troubled with a sensitive conscience, eh? You want 
to pay me back for that old Mexican hat? No, no; 
that’s not to be thought of for a moment.” 

But Jim insisted. He had risen to his feet, and 
O’Meara had followed his example. Jim hooked the 
banker by the elbow, and, both laughing, they left the 
building arm in arm, like tried and trusted friends. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 

R EILLY and Burke were in town — Jim Marshall 
had ascertained this, unobtrusively, without in- 
quiring of anyone, simply by examining the registers 
at different hotels. The hotel where they were quar- 
tered he found to be only a block or two away from 
his own. It was a less pretentious establishment, its 
charges quite evidently cheaper, and its patronage ac- 
cordingly of a rougher class. Jim made no move to 
open up an acquaintance until Lavigne should arrive. 

It was almost the supper hour before the rancher 
put in an appearance. Jim was reading a newspaper 
in the hotel lobby, deeply interested over an article 
about government experiments in acclimating the date 
palm, when Lavigne laid a hand upon his shoulder. 

“ Jim.” 

“ Francois, old fellow.” 

It was the first time the two men had met away from 
Submarine Junction, and there was extra cordiality 
in the handgrip exchanged. 

“ Glad to see you here,” said Francois. “ I drove 
over in my buckboard. That will be more comfort- 
able than the wagon to take you back with me to my 
home. Hortense is all eagerness to welcome you. 
We are going to have a grand old time.” 

“ You’re mighty kind,” responded Jim. “ Sit down 
226 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 


227 

for a few minutes. I see that Reilly and Burke are 
both in Yuma.” 

“ Oh, yes. As I told you, they invariably come in 
around the first of the month. I spoke to Burke the 
day before yesterday. He is all primed up to sell. 
He wants to go back to Ireland, and hopes Reilly will 
take the opposite direction — to Japan. He never 
wants to see his ugly mug again — that’s how he put 
it,” Francois went on laughing. “ I took the chance 
to drop a hint that I thought I knew a possible buyer 
who might be in Yuma this week. He rose to the fly 
like a rainbow trout, wanted to know more, but I let 
it rest at that. You’ll have no difficulty with him, I 
think that’s sure.” 

“ And Reilly?” 

“ Well, Reilly drunk and Reilly sober are two differ- 
ent men. When he has a load aboard, he is as snarly 
as a mountain cat and as obstinate as a mule. At other 
times he is not half a bad fellow, provided Burke 
doesn’t happen to be around. He’s shrewd, too, and 
long-headed; knows quite well that two quarrelsome 
partners can never make money; and I fancy he also 
will be only too glad to quit if the price you are pre- 
pared to pay is about right. I have had another chat, 
since I saw you, with Miguel, the Indian cowboy. 
There are certainly close on 400 head of stock all 
told, nearly all on the range. For there’s mighty little 
feed around the ranch house just now. There hasn’t 
been a drop of rain for close on six months.” 

“ Irrigation will put that all right,” commented Jim. 
“ When are you going to tackle those fellows ? ” 

“ Tomorrow morning, bright and early, when Reilly 


228 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


will be at his best and easiest to handle. I’ve put up 
at their hotel this time, so that we can’t help running 
against each other without any appearance of my chas- 
ing them. You just sit around here during the fore- 
noon. When I bring ’em along, you’ll know they are 
ready to consider a proposal.” 

“ All right. And now, Francois, you’ll dine with 
me. The best hotel table in Yuma is yours by right, 
my friend. Or perhaps I should say mon ami now. 
You’ll have to teach me French in my old age.” Jim 
had an arm around his comrade’s shoulders as, laugh- 
ing, they moved toward the dining room. 

Next day, in the other hotel, Reilly and Burke were 
getting ready to enjoy their morning meal seated at 
the opposite far ends of the long dining room, with 
morning papers held in front of them so as to shut out 
the view of each other’s countenances. Lavigne en- 
tered, surveyed the scene, smiled, and, as there were 
no other guests present, called out : 

“ Look here, boys, you are both going to breakfast 
with me this morning. It’s not often that neighbors 
meet away from home. Come along. We’ll take this 
table, my dear ” — this to a pretty little waitress who 
had just entered with the day’s bill-of-fare in her hand. 

Awkwardly, half reluctantly, the two partners moved 
up from their frigid poles toward the equatorial belt 
of the room. 

“ Good morning to you,” said Reilly gruffly, eyeing 
Burke as much as to say that there must be some show 
of politeness before company. 

“ Same to you,” growled Burke, with a glowering 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 


229 


glance that further discounted the display of unwonted 
courtesy. 

But they took their seats all the same, one on each 
side of Lavigne, and, under the Frenchman’s genial 
guiding influence, the meal proceeded pleasantly 
enough. Mexico was the principal subject discussed 
— faction-torn and bandit-ridden Mexico. 

Both the cattlemen knew the border country well, 
and had interesting comments on the situation. Burke 
was very gloomy as to the final outcome of events; ’ ut 
Reilly was inclined to be optimistic. 

“ I tell you, Mr. Lavigne,” he declared toward the 
close of the discussion, “ if I had the capital right now, 
I could make a barrel of money by buying cattle for 
spot cash across the line.” 

“ You’d have a slim chance of getting out of the 
country with your spot cash or any cattle either,” 
commented Burks. “ They are nothing but a lot of 
damned thieves.” 

“ I’m accustomed to take care of myself,” retorted 
Reilly. 

“ Oh, the men who really know the people,” inter- 
posed Lavigne with a genial right and left smile, “ and 
who can speak their lingo, can handle the business all 
right. It’s only the tenderfoot that gets stung.” 

“ Some pretty old and tough tenderfeet have lost 
their lives this time,” observed Burke. 

“ Well, I ain’t old, and I ain’t tough, nor am I par- 
ticularly tender,” laughed Reilly with a half snarl and 
snap in his voice. “ All the same, I’d bet to make two 
dollars for one at the game.” 


230 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Why don’t you have a try at it, then ? ” asked La- 
vigne. 

“ Where’s the money, I’d like to know, in these hard 
times ? ” 

“ Oh, you might get a loan on the ranch, couldn’t 
you? I myself might even spare a couple of thousand 
dollars and go in on the deal.” 

“ What! And leave Burke in possession? Not on 
your blamed life. The whole place would go to the 
dogs in a week.” 

He spoke frankly — in complete disregard of his 
partner’s presence. But Lavigne had often enough 
before heard similar remarks and Burke by his indiffer- 
ence showed that he was quite accustomed to person- 
alities of the kind. At present he was too busy over 
a succulent T-bone steak to have his irascibility 
aroused. 

So the conversation proceeded without disturbance. 

“ I was telling your partner the other day,” said 
Lavigne, still addressing Reilly, “ that I happen to 
know a man who is looking for some cattle country 
handy to Yuma.” 

“ A buyer? ” came the eager query. 

“ Spot cash, I was informed.” 

“ At what figure? ” 

“ How should I know ? I guess you’ve got to give 
him a price.” 

“ Where’s he to be found? ” asked Burke, relinquish- 
ing his knife and fork. “ And what’s his name? ” 

“ Mr. Marshall is his name. I fancy he is likely to 
be registered at the Gondolfo if he’s in town. Per- 
haps we might stroll around.” 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 


231 

“ Right you are.” Both partners drew back their 
chairs from the table. 

“ But he doesn’t know much about your place,” con- 
tinued Lavigne. “ He has just picked up a few facts, 
from hearsay, about different ranches in the neighbor- 
hood. I believe he is ready to make an offer on mine. 
But he knows I’m not on the market — unless, of 
course, I happen to change my mind.” 

Reilly looked uneasy; he rose to his feet. 

“ We had better see him right away then,” he pro- 
posed. 

“ Well, I was going to ask whether you haven’t a 
map of some kind to show him — your acreage, 
boundary lines, and all that sort of thing.” 

“ We’ve got a map with our abstracts of title, of 
course.” 

“ In the safe deposit vaults at the First National 
Bank,” added Burke, “ just around the corner.” 

“ It might be well then, to have the map with you. 
Of course you know your stock figures? ” 

“ If we can agree on a price per head,” repeated 
Reilly, “ we can have a muster in double quick time.” 

“ All right, if that comes to be necessary,” concurred 
Lavigne. “ Well, if you like, gentlemen, we’ll make 
a move. We can visit the Safe Deposit in passing. 
No, no; these breakfasts are on me ” — he was paying 
the pretty waitress, and with his tip was bestowing on 
her the true Frenchman’s gallant smile. “ The dinners 
tonight may be yours, if by any chance we can put 
through a deal.” 

“ Now, don’t be too damned bull-headed,” said Burke 
in an aside to his partner. 


232 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ You keep your greedy mouth shut,” retorted 
Reilly, also in a low tone. “If you don’t put j^our 
foot in it, I may get rid of you at last, damn your 
eyes.” 

“ Come along, brothers,” exclaimed Francois, ex- 
tending an arm over the shoulders of each of the pair 
of heavenly twins. 

Jim was seated in the lobby of his hotel, smoking a 
cigar, while. he scanned the morning newspaper. Fran- 
cois saw him from the corner of his eye, but went 
through the formality of inquiring of the desk clerk 
whether Mr. James Marshall happened to be regis- 
tered. 

“ That’s him — right over there,” was the clerk’s 
reply. 

Francois glanced in the indicated direction. 

“ So it is. Come along then, boys. I’ll introduce 
you. Of course if you want me to clear out, I’ll leave 
you alone.” 

“ No, no,” — the negative came from both the part- 
ners. 

“ In fact, we’d rather you put the business points for 
us,” suggested Reilly. “If Burke tries to handle the 
gentleman, there’s not one chance in a hundred of a 
deal being put through.” 

“ And God help us if you had to do the talking,” 
retorted Burke amiably. 

“ All right, boys. No quarreling. I’ll try to help 
you out, both of you. Come on. Don’t miss this 
opportunity.” 

Jim Marshall rose with quite stately dignity when 
Lavigne accosted him by name. 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 


233 


“ Oh, yes. I remember you, Mr. Lavigne. Glad 
to meet you again. And your friends? ” 

“ Mr. Reilly — Mr. Burke. They are the owners 
of a cattle ranch up the river — near neighbors of mine, 
in fact. The last time we met you remarked that you 
were on the outlook for just such a property/’ 

“ Well, I’m not quite sure — I’m half thinking now 
of sheep.” 

“ Oh, sheep can’t touch cows,” interjected Burke. 

“ Shut your damned mouth,” growled Reilly, under 
his breath and with a savage glare at the offender. 

Mr. Marshall was too polite to see or overhear. 

“ Well, I’m a sheep man, as you know,” continued 
Lavigne, “ first, last, and all the time. But sheep and 
wool need a good deal more experience in handling 
than range-running cattle. These gentlemen have a 
map of their property with them, and can give you 
a close estimate of the number of stock. Their ranch 
has the great advantage of having the foothills right 
behind it — Government land and likely to be Govern- 
ment land for the next hundred years, and the best 
grazing country ever.” 

“ Oh, I’m not a buyer of blue sky,” laughed Jim. 

“ But wouldn’t you like to look at the map ? They 
have got their abstracts, too, right here in Yuma. 
Not one dollar of encumbrance on property or stock. 
1280 acres of land, and about 350 head of stock of 
all ages. That’s the figure you gave me, Mr. Burke, 
isn’t it? ” 

“ Yes; 350 more or less — probably more.” 

Reilly was about to get in some reply, too, but La- 
vigne discreetly squeezed his arm. 


234 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ You’ll look over the papers, won’t you?” Lavigne 
continued to argue. “ At least there can be no harm 
done, and you’ll be adding to your knowledge of the 
country.” 

Reilly produced from his pocket a little red-taped 
bundle of papers, among which showed the glazed linen 
fabric of a survey tracing. He proffered the packet 
to Jim, but the latter waved it aside. 

“ Well, we can’t talk business here. Suppose we 
go up to my room. I happen to have a private parlor 
on the second floor.” 

The cattlemen almost tumbled over each other as 
they crowded up the stairs. 

Among the papers were the certificates of title for 
the two sections of land, one of which stood in the 
name of Reilly, the other in the name of Burke. Be- 
sides the map of the two adjacent holdings, there was 
an agreement of partnership executed twelve years 
before, under which the live stock were run on the 
land and on the range as joint property. 

Jim examined the documents with leisurely care. 
He had handed round a box of cigars, and left the 
others to go ahead with their smoking. Burke kept 
an eye on Reilly, Reilly an eye on Burke. But La- 
vigne, at the opposite side of the table to Jim, separated 
them, and it was to him that Jim addressed an occa- 
sional query about this mark or that mark, the special 
features of the land, the average rainfall, and so on. 
Finally, first jotting down the figure 350 as represent- 
ing the likely number of stock, Jim did a little ciphering 
on a sheet of paper, the two Irishmen watching his 
facile pencil intently. When he had finished his nota- 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 


235 


tions, Jim folded the paper, and rested a hand on it. 

“ Well, your price, gentlemen? ” he asked, glancing 
from the one partner to the other. 

This was a poser; the two sellers looked at each 
other across the table, with the sullen ferocity of a 
couple of strange bulls. 

Lavigne interposed. 

“ Couldn’t you make an offer, Mr. Marshall ? ” 

“ I can’t be both seller and buyer,” calmly objected 
Jim. 

“ There are special circumstances in this case,” La- 
vigne continued to urge. “If you name your figure, 
these gentlemen will at least consider it.” 

“ Well, I reckon that the ranch may be worth $10,000 
— land and stock.” 

“ Twelve thousand,” roared Burke. 

“ Fifteen thousand, you idiot,” Reilly almost 
screamed. 

It looked as if a fight was on. But Jim quietly re- 
adjusted the tape round the bundle of papers, then 
proceeded to select a cigar. Lavigne was gripping 
each partner by a wrist. 

“ Then we are not agreed, gentlemen,” resumed Jim, 
after his cigar was alight. “ I was prepared to pay 
cash — $10,000 in currency.” 

As he spoke he reached a hand to his money belt, 
and produced a wad of bills. He opened the roll — 
spread the bills a trifle apart. 

“ Ten one-thousand dollar bills,” he went on, as he 
rustled the crisp currency. 

Burke’s eyes fairly popped; Francois could feel 
Reilly’s arm trembling. 


236 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ That would fix you up for your Mexican venture,” 
observed Lavigne, with a glance at Reilly. 

“ Ireland for me,” gurgled Burke in a low tone. 

Jim was now rolling up the notes again. 

“ I’ll sell my half interest for $5000,” exclaimed 
Burke, extending a hand across the table. “If Reilly 
sells too,” he added by way of afterthought, as he shot 
a vengeful glance at his partner. 

“ By God, I’ll take the $5000 if only to be rid of 
you, you derned hydrophobia skunk.” 

Lavigne held the two men apart. Reilly continued, 
addressing the buyer again : 

“ It’s a mighty good bargain for you, Mr. Marshall. 
But spot cash is spot cash, and it enables me at last to 
break that agreement of partnership with the lowest- 
down mongrel ” — 

Burke would have sprung at Reilly’s throat but for 
Lavigne’s firm detaining grip. 

“ Now, now, boys. Why quarrel, when you are go- 
ing to part tomorrow, perhaps forever ? It appears to 
me the deal is through. $10,000 goes.” 

“ All right,” growled Reilly, and Burke, too, uttered 
a grumbling assent. 

“ Very well, gentlemen,” said Jim. “ We’ll tele- 
phone for an attorney, and draw up the necessary 
papers here and now — transfer deeds for the land 
and a bill of sale for all the stock. The brand, double 
XL on a bar, with an underclip out of the left ear, of 
course goes with the cattle. Your usual attorney will 
be good enough for me, but before paying over the 
money I reserve the right to submit the documents to 


TURNING CATTLEMAN 


237 

my banker here. If that’s agreed we may count the 
deal as closed.” 

Two hours later Mike O’Meara had scrutinized and 
passed the documents, Reilly and Burke had departed 
each with his own particular wad of currency, Lavigne 
had said good-by for the present to attend to some 
business affairs on his own account, and Jim and the 
banker were alone. 

“ I guess it’s a pretty good buy, Marshall,” remarked 
the latter, after a final glance at the map of the ranch. 

“ I hope so,” replied Jim quietly. “ It is both a 
speculation and an investment. But I’m taking my 
chance, and have paid a fair price, I think. Now I 
want to rent a safe deposit box for my papers, O’Meara. 
And you’ll please put this extra $5000 to the credit of 
my current account. These men have three days to 
surrender possession. But tonight, after the moon is 
up, Lavigne and I start north. You’ll be seeing me 
pretty frequently from time to time, my good friend. 
You hold my bank account; now just you watch it 
grow.” 

Jim laughed gaily, and a little later shook hands and 
went his way. 

“ Looks as if he had added another two inches to 
his chest measurement,” smiled O’Meara to himself 
as through the plate glass window he watched the tall, 
straight figure swinging down the street. “ Some 
way I believe in Jim Marshall, and best of all I believe 
he believes in himself. It is said a man others believe 
in is a power, but if he believes in himself he is doubly 
powerful.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


STOCK-TAKING 

J IM MARSHALL had taken possession of his newly 
acquired property. Reilly and Burke had sorted 
out their personal belongings, and after a final frank 
expression of opinion how each regarded the other had 
left by different routes, the one south for Yuma and 
the Mexican border, the other north for Needles on his 
way to New York and thence to Ireland. With the 
departure of the quarrelsome couple peace at last 
reigned on the ranch ; there was nothing more serious 
than the occasional angry bellowing of a bull to break 
the harmony of the scene. But in Jim’s case the low- 
ing, even the bellowing, of cattle was as music to the 
soul, for as a boy he had been bred on a farm and, 
although he had not realized it before, it was farm life, 
the daily contact with nature, the soil itself and its 
abounding productivity, that appealed most strongly 
to his heart. 

So everything was eager joy and happiness, high 
hopes and meanwhile supreme contentment in the hard 
work which each day demanded. Even the names of 
the former proprietors were consigned to oblivion. 
The place was to be known as the Marshall Rancho; 
Jim had already sent out an order for letter heads 
bearing the name, also his cattle brand by way of 
heraldic adornment. 


238 


STOCK-TAKING 


239 


He continued to board for the present with his good 
friends and neighbors, the Lavignes, to whose home 
he had been welcomed with such cordial hospitality 
that he knew his presence, so far from being an intru- 
sion, was a pleasure to his hosts by varying the 
monotony of their somewhat lonely lives. Of an eve- 
ning Lavigne had already initiated Jim into the mys- 
teries of cribbage, Hortense being well content to retire 
from a twenty years’ tournament with flying colors. 
Francois, moreover, having found a new opponent, 
was diligently searching for some stray pieces of a 
set of chessmen with a view to teaching “ the game of 
games,” as he called it, to a less reluctant and more 
redoubtable pupil than his good wife had proved to 
be in the long ago, when attempts had been made, only 
to be despairingly abandoned. 

To Jim, this new taste of home life was delightful. 
But that was not the only reason why he delayed for 
a time to start housekeeping on his own account. He 
was already beginning to convert the long log cabin 
into a bunk house and dining room for the farm hands 
and cowboys he was going to employ with the least 
delay possible. For himself he would build a modest 
little cottage on the plan of his old home at Sub- 
marine. 

On the very first day of his arrival, Jim, guided by 
Francois, had inspected the abandoned water channel, 
also the canyon among the hills whence a tiny but 
permanent stream descended, only to lose its uncon- 
served waters in the desert sands. Francois was, in 
his own way, quite an engineer, although his only 
school had been that of practical experience. Jim, 


240 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


during recent years had not merely mastered the law 
of water rights, but had studied with his accustomed 
scholarly thoroughness numerous textbooks on water 
conservation and irrigation. 

He had a fine eye, too, for what might be termed 
“ the lay of the land,” and had immediately decided 
on a dam across the canyon to, secure the necessary 
reserve supply, and a reservoir on his own property 
to fill up a depression that might have been designed 
by nature for the utilitarian purpose to which it was 
now at last to be applied. Jim foresaw that this reser- 
voir would become the main watering place for his 
herds, and could not fail to prove an invaluable ad- 
junct to the stock-feeding plans he had in view. 

Meanwhile, a couple of able-bodied tramps who had 
chanced to pass and had proved amenable to the lure 
of a few weeks of well-paid work, had been set to the 
task of repairing the abandoned channel and digging 
the lateral ditch which would eventually provide an 
ample supply of irrigation water for the entire acreage 
owned by himself and Lavigne. Nor had he neglected 
to send to the Land Office at San Bernardino the docu- 
mentary filings on the water necessary to secure undis- 
puted possession. 

It had been a very busy and a very useful ten days. 
And now had arrived the momentous occasion of the 
cattle muster and count. During the interval the two 
cowboys, who had been in the employment of Reilly 
and Burke for a number of years, had brought in the 
vagrant herds. They had reported that the last maver- 
ick had been accounted for — the round-up was com- 
plete. 


STOCK-TAKING 


241 


The result of the count exceeded Lavigne’s estimate 
and Jim’s most sanguine expectations — 90 calves, 85 
yearlings, 78 two-year-olds, 65 three-year-olds, 10 1 
breeding cows, and 10 bulls; 429 head of stock in all, 
besides the half-dozen riding ponies. 

It had been a somewhat dry summer, the former 
owners had made no attempt to grow any feed addi- 
tional to that which the back country provided, and the 
beasts, although healthy, were on the whole in lean 
condition. Jim’s immediate decision was to cut out 
all the steers, and drive them to Imperial for sale, 
there being a steady demand and sure market there for 
stock for fattening. Before nightfall the sorting had 
been completed, 81' steers yarded, two-year-olds and 
three-year-olds, and the rest of the herd, heifers and 
cows, dispersed once again to their accustomed natural 
pasturages and waterholes. 

By daylight on the following morning Jim, accom- 
panied by the two cowboys, hit the southerly trail. 
He was riding a really fine pony that had been the one 
living thing on which Reilly had lavished what remnant 
of natural affections had survived the cantankerous 
years of partnership with his brother Hibernian. The 
pony was quiet and well-trained, and Jim rode it with 
the true air of the horseman who has acquired the art 
of equestrianship in the days of his youth. Those 
days might now be remote, in the intervening years 
Jim might have bestrode nothing more formidable 
than a cobbler’s bench, but to his delight he had found 
himself still quite at home in the saddle, ready to sub- 
due a bucking broncho should the occasion ever re- 
quire. 


242 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


At Imperial, after some spirited competition among 
the buyers, Jim was fortunate in securing an offer of 
$40 per head, thereby realizing $3240 in all. At such 
a price he was thankful to be rid of young male stock 
which for the present he himself could not fatten. 
The heifers were different — they would be the breed- 
ers on the ranch and the future source of all his profits. 

Jim lost no time in starting the cowboys back for 
home, giving them instructions that, until his own re- 
turn, they were to visit the ranchers all around and 
purchase on his behalf every available calf at a maxi- 
mum price named. Already he had made arrange- 
ments with Lavigne for the temporary feeding of this 
young stock on one of the Frenchman’s fields of alfalfa. 
He sent a message to his friend that he might not be 
home again for a week or ten days. 

The first part of that period Jim put in by inspecting 
the finest ranches in the Valley. Everywhere he was 
made welcome, and the fullest facilities were afforded 
him to look over the irrigation ditches, watch the cul- 
tivation work in progress, and gather all the informa- 
tion he desired about stock, crops, returns, clearing, 
grading, fencing, and so on. He also visited the in- 
take from the Colorado River, and studied the structure 
of dams and gates. It was a profitable time — profit- 
able mainly because a trained student’s mind was being 
brought to bear on the questions under investigation. 

This task performed, he started for Yuma, taking 
that route for home for sundry reasons. His first 
visit was to O’Meara at the bank. He drew from his 
money belt the certified check he had received at Im- 
perial in payment for his steers. 



THE RANCH PARTNERS QUARREL 





STOCK-TAKING 


243 


“ Three thousand two hundred and forty dollars ! ” 
exclaimed O’Meara in some surprise, as he examined 
the strip of paper. “ You have certainly started pretty 
quick to get your investment back.” 

“ I told you to watch my account grow,” responded 
Jim, quietly. “ Now I warn you that you may for 
a time see it rapidly diminish,” he added with a smile. 

Then he proceeded to explain to his friend how he 
was going to improve his property, how the water 
supply had been secured, how the lateral ditch had 
already been started, and how within a year at latest 
he would have his entire holding of 1280 acres sub- 
divided into fenced fields of 40 or 80 acres apiece, 
producing crops of alfalfa, sorghum, millet, Kaffir 
corn, and other food stuffs which would enable him to 
multiply his herds and sell steers in numbers ready 
fattened for the market and therefore at top-notch 
prices all the time. 

O’Meara eyed the keen, intellectual face of the man 
outlining this project. At the close, he made no at- 
tempt to conceal his enthusiastic admiration. 

“ By guns, you’re a sure winner, Marshall,” he de- 
clared emphatically. “ That’s what I call fertilizing 
land with brains — the greatest fertilizer of all. But 
your wire fencing is going to run you into a big out- 
lay.” 

“ I know it,” replied Jim, “ for it has got to be hog- 
tight fencing, too. I bought 200 of the finest Berk- 
shire brood sows down in Imperial, and ten of the 
best-blooded boars in the valley — regardless of price, 
O’Meara, for it is the parent stock that makes the 
ranch. You see, I have tumbled to the fact that hogs 


244 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


are the economical feeders to follow cattle — they 
eat up all the waste and stray feed, and become a by- 
product that costs little or nothing after the first 
capital expenditure on the necessary fencing. So you 
see the outlay is most fully justified. I hope you’ll 
enjoy some day a rasher of Jim Marshall’s home-cured 
bacon.” 

“ Well, you’ll be the making of that country up the 
river. It was just such a man as you who was needed 
to leaven the whole sleepy bunch of fellows.” 

“ Not Lavigne. Francois Lavigne is right in the 
front in his own particular line.” 

“ That’s so — there is no one to beat Lavigne for 
either wool or mutton. But most of the others in your 
neighborhood seem to have been born in Sleepy Hol- 
low. But I guess you’ll waken them up. When they 
see your prosperity, they’ll want to follow your lead.” 

“ And I’ll be delighted to help them. The pros- 
perity of all never fails to increase the prosperity of 
each individual.” 

“ The true doctrine of modern enlightenment,” con- 
curred the banker. “ Now I’ll hand this check of 
yours to the cashier, and then you’ll lunch with me. 
I always eat at home — my little bungalow is just 
around the corner. Didn’t know I was married, eh? 
Sure. I not only found a banker’s job in Yuma, but 
the prettiest little woman in all Arizona. She’ll be 
glad to make your acquaintance, Marshall. So, come 
along.” 

A pleasant hour was passed in the O’Meara home, 
where, as O’Meara had predicted, Jim received the 
most cordial of welcomes from his truly attractive 


STOCK-TAKING 


245 


hostess. After he had bidden her goodby and the 
two men had descended the steps of the front porch, 
the banker laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“ Come around the house,” he said. “ I want to 
show you something in my barn.” 

Wondering a little, Jim complied. O’Meara threw 
open the door of the barn, and pointed to a fine white 
and brown Jersey cow. 

“ An old friend of yours,” he laughed. “ The lady 
whose warm bed you appropriated that night on the 
desert. I’ll never forget, old chap, the extraordinary 
picture you presented when you tumbled out of the 
hay.” 

“ I have always remembered bossie with gratitude,” 
smiled back Jim in return. “ Her rich cream was like 
nectar of the gods to a famished man.” 

“ The greatest milker I ever had,” said O’Meara, 
as he patted the gentle animal’s neck. “ That’s why 
I brought her along. There’s nothing like sticking 
to a tried friend, eh? ” 

“ But I suppose you don’t keep open house for 
tramps any longer? ” quizzed Jim. 

“ Not in Yuma, thank you,” replied O’Meara with 
dry emphasis. He glanced at his watch and went on. 
“ Gee, I must be getting back to the bank. But I’ve 
enjoyed your visit to my home. You must come 
again.” 

During the remainder of the afternoon Jim turned 
his attention to the other business matters that had 
brought him to the town. He gave a cash order at 
the leading hardware store that fairly took the owner’s 
breath away, and entered into a contract for future 


246 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


delivery of hog-tight wire fencing by the mile, to be 
paid for partly in cash and partly on time. For Jim 
Marshall was already too shrewd a business man to 
deplete his capital reserves unduly until returns were 
steadily coming in. Then there was lumber to be 
bought, also provisions and supplies of various kinds. 
Finally Jim visited an employment agency, and left 
instructions that every likely man of the type he re- 
quired and described was to be sent along to the Mar- 
shall Rancho. 

He had been in the saddle part of the night before. 
He had accomplished a hard day’s work. But after 
just a few hours of sleep, he was once more astride his 
pony, riding in the moonlight on the northerly trail. 
Such was the restless energy of the man whose strength 
and endurance had been renewed as if he had drunk 
at the fabled well whose waters are an elixir of peren- 
nial youth. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


love’s young dream 

/^NCE again among the tiger-lilies and the cow- 
slips — and this time the young lovers, Ned Col- 
lier and Bessie Gordon. They were alone in the little 
canyon, this bright sunny Saturday afternoon. For 
while sister Bernice in her unmarried days had sub- 
mitted almost as a matter of course to the constant 
chaperonage of her mother, not so Miss Bessie. This 
young lady had developed very decided opinions of 
her own. 

In any case her mother’s accumulating engagements, 
what with teaching, women’s clubs, and the social fes- 
tivities at which she deemed it essential to make her 
presence felt, now rendered constant companionship 
between the two impracticable. But Bessie had solved 
the difficulty in a very decided way. On one occasion 
when an outing was being obstructed because Mrs. 
Gordon could not play escort for her daughter, the 
young lady had cut the Gordian knot by declaring that 
she was now of an age when she was perfectly able 
to take care of herself. It was open rebellion, but 
after a smart passage of arms the pretty little rebel 
had won out. Mrs. Gordon never again ventured to 
object to Ned’s taking Bessie for a walk along the 
beach, or a run on the cars, or even to a picture show 
or a theatre. 


247 


248 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Thus it had come about that they were alone in the 
canyon this particular afternoon, Ned’s weekly half- 
holiday. The spot to Bessie was not only one of at- 
tractive beauty but of very hallowed memories. She 
always associated it with her beloved father, who had 
first taken her to the place in the days of her child- 
hood, and had shown her the nooks where the tiger- 
lilies flaunted their gay blooms and the moist hollows 
where the sweet yellow cowslips nestled close to mother 
earth. She took delight in gathering bouquets of the 
two flowers, thinking all the time of her dear, dead 
daddy who, too, had loved them so well. 

Ned knew her tender sentiment, and rejoiced in it, 
for somehow it seemed to bring them closer together 
here than amid any other surroundings. Today he 
had gathered the flowers and filled her lap with them 
as she sat upon a rock beside the murmuring stream. 
She had completed her task of arranging and tying 
the two splendid bouquets. Ned noticed the tears that 
had brimmed into her eyes. 

“ Thinking of your papa, Bessie ? ” he inquired gen- 
tly, seating himself beside her and touching one of her 
hands. 

“ Yes,” she replied. “ I always think of him when 
we are in this canyon. Oh, I had such a dear daddy, 
Ned — so kind, so unselfish, so patient, such a hard- 
worker, although he was sick nearly all the time. I 
was never ashamed of his being only a shoe-pegger. 
Are you ? ” 

“Of course not. The man who does a hard day’s 
work, whatever it is, is only to be admired.” 

“ But I begin to understand now why he was only 


LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM 


249 


a shoe-pegger. It was for love of us — mother, Ber- 
nice, and me. He just had to earn money all the time 
to supply our requirements, and he never had the chance 
to look around for something bigger or better to do.” 

“ Bigger, perhaps,” corrected Ned. “ Not better, 
Bessie dear.” 

She in turn patted his hand to show her appreciation 
that he understood her. 

“ That's true — not better. My ! he was the finest 
shoe-pegger ever! How I used to watch his hammer 
go clap, clap, clap, fast like this ” — she suited the 
action to the word — “ his left hand slipping under a 
peg for every blow, and his eyes reading a book all 
the time. Wasn’t it wonderful ? ” 

Her tears were gone now, her face was aglow with 
the love and admiration that burned within. 

“ He was a noble daddy, Ned,” she declared fer- 
vently. “ I’ll love him all my days. Mama wanted 
to buy me a gold watch for my last birthday. But I’ll 
never wear any but the little gun-metal watch he used 
to wear.” 

As she spoke her hand strayed to her waist belt; 
she gave a little start, and paused, casting a downward 
glance at the place where a fob of black silk usually 
showed. It was not there at the present moment. 

“ This is the first time it ever happened,” she said at 
last, glancing up at Ned with a half-smile of self- 
rebuke. “ I left my watch this morning under my 
pillow.” 

“ Oh, well, I’ve got my chronometer,” laughed Ned, 
as he pulled out a stoutly-built watch. “ Only silver, 
but the standard railroad man’s watch — keeps time to 


250 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


the fifth of a second. This is the ticker for me,” he 
added with his accustomed enthusiasm. 

“ That’s all right,” she commented. “ Neither of 
us need gold watches, do we? You need a good time- 
keeper, that’s all. But even when my little watch gets 
worn down and old, I’m going to wear it all the same 
— just for love of my 'Car, kind daddy.” 

“ By jove, your love is worth having, Bessie. What 
wouldn’t I give for such love as that.” 

His voice trembled with the fervor of his words, 
he drew closer to her, again he caught hold of her 
hand. 

Bessie’s eyes dropped, a faint blush stole into her 
cheeks. But she did not withdraw her hand. 

Emboldened, Ned slipped an arm around her waist. 

“ Bessie, Bessie, I love you. I have loved you from 
the first day I saw you. I never spoke about it be- 
cause then you were only a child. But now it is dif- 
ferent, and I can’t keep back my thoughts any longer. 
I love you, I just love you with all the fire and pas- 
sion of my soul.” 

He was bending over her now, his face close to 
hers. 

“ Bessie, darling, can you ever learn to love me ? ” 
Ned’s voice was soft and pleading. “ Dare I hope, 
sweetheart mine ? ” 

There was a moment of tense silence. Then Bessie 
gave her answer. She simply raised her hands, placed 
them on his shoulders, and drawing his lips down to 
hers, bestowed the maiden’s first kiss of fervid love. 
It told the whole story — for Ned it was the best and 
sweetest answer of all. 


LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM 


251 


He rose to his feet, and lifted her up into his arms, 
hugging her close to his breast, kissing her again and 
again. 

“ I have loved you, Ned, all the time/’ she mur- 
mured, when at last he gave her the chance to speak 
and her upraised eyes gazed fondly into his. 

“ Then indeed I am the happiest man on all God’s 
wide earth,” he exclaimed as again he gathered the 
honey from her rose-bud lips. 

About this very time Mrs. Gordon was dismissing 
a pupil from her studio — a rich young woman whom 
the artist tolerated because she paid a good fee and 
was of good social standing, but who would have been 
moie usefully employed varnishing the kitchen chairs 
than attempting to paint on dainty porcelain. During 
the lesson Kioto had entered and deposited a little 
bunch of mail on a side table. Alone at last, Miriam 
dropped into a cosy chair close by, and reached forth 
a hand for the letters. 

She was nonchalantly inspecting the envelopes when 
all of a sudden her interest was aroused. She had 
come to a familiar typewritten address and the familiar 
Sunset Overland Mail postmark, and now with trem- 
bling eagerness she ripped the cover open. Its con- 
tents were a yellow blank sheet of paper enfolding a 
currency bill — one hundred dollars. 

“ Another hundred-dollar bill ! ” she murmured to 
herself. “ I thought it must have been a mistake last 
month when the first one came instead of the usual 
twenty dollars. But my unknown friend is apparently 
going to stick to the new sum. Well, this is luck. 
I’ll be able to afford that Paris gown.” 


252 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


She let the money and the papers drop into her lap, 
and opened another letter. It was on dainty perfumed 
stationery — an invitation to some bridge party. A 
third letter also was languidly disposed of. But the 
next and last one again caused great excitement. It 
read as follows : 

“ Dear Mrs. Marsh Gordon : 

“ We have disposed of the six pieces of porcelain 
left with us some time ago on sale or return, and have 
orders for more of your beautiful work. We wish a 
further supply immediately, and are also desirous of 
entering into a permanent arrangement with you to 
be your exclusive agents. We think we can offer you 
attractive terms, so shall esteem it a favor if you give 
us a call the first day you happen to be in Los Angeles. 

“ Yours respectfully, 

“ Western Art Studios, 

“ per J. M., manager.” 

There was a flash of joy and triumph on Miriam’s 
face as she read and re-read this communication. Her 
name recognized at last ! Her fame established ! The 
biggest art store in the city! 

Already her eyes were roaming around and selecting 
from walls and brackets choice specimens of her ar- 
tistic genius, which would certainly be packed at once 
for delivery first thing on Monday morning. Then 
she paused and reflected. Her keen business instincts 
were aroused. 

“ No, no. I must not show myself too eager ” — =» 
this was the tenor of her musings. “ I’ll call about 


LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM 


253 


Wednesday or Thursday, and first learn about prices. 
Then there must be a firm contract signed.” 

Just then Bessie burst into the room. Gathered in 
one arm were the glorious bouquets of cowslips and 
tiger-lilies. 

“ Mother dear, did you see my little gun-metal 
watch? I’m sure I left it under my pillow this morn- 
ing.” 

“ Why so excited, child, over such a trifle? ” replied 
Miriam, with royal serenity. “ You will find it over 
there on the mantelshelf.” 

Bessie darted across the room to recover her treas- 
ured possession, and Miriam seized the opportunity 
to pick up the one-hundred dollar bill and slip it out of 
sight, into the folds of her bosom. 

When Bessie turned round again, her mother ex- 
tended a hand. 

“ Read that letter from the Western Art Studios, 
Bessie. At last I have arrived.” 

She held forth the missive with the condescending 
smile of self-approved genius. 

Bessie kissed her watch as she crossed the room. 
In passing she had laid down the flowers on the grand 
piano. 

“ I wouldn’t lose my dear daddy’s watch for all the 
world. I got such a fright when I didn’t find it in my 
room. Well, let me read your letter. Then I’ve got 
some news for you, too, mama.” 

She drew a chair close to the small table and duti- 
fully applied herself first of all to the communication 
from the art dealers. 

“ My warm congratulations, mama dear,” said the 


254 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


young girl, rising and kissing her mother affectionately 
on the brow. “You certainly deserve success after 
all these years of perseverance. And now I’m going 
to ask for your congratulations also. Oh, I just wish 
my dear daddy was here. I know he would be so 
happy. For he did love his little Bessie.” 

“ Why are you always speaking about him?” 

Miriam uttered the words with a sort of cold dis- 
dainfulness. The light died out of Bessie’s face. She 
drew herself up erect, and for a moment surveyed her 
mother with a look of mingled pain and surprise. 
Then with a little sigh, she resumed her seat. But 
all the enthusiasm of her promised confidences seemed 
to have evaporated. Her eyes were grave now and 
still wondering. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


BESSIE $PEAKS HER MIND 

4 4 l\/rOTHER,” Bessie began seriously, “why 
should I not speak about my dear daddy 
just as often as I please?” 

“ There are reasons which you quite well know that 
render it undesirable — at least before other people. 
In the first place he was only a common shoe-pegger. 
Then again he was a consumptive. So when you keep 
pulling out that little gun-metal watch so that you may 
tell people it was your papa’s, you only provoke in- 
quiries. This, to say the least of it, is a very stupid 
thing to do. Even to me it simply serves to revive 
painful memories.” 

“ But not to me,” rejoined Bessie, sturdily. “ My 
memories of papa are only dear memories. It makes 
me happy to have his watch under my pillow or at 
my belt, for its ticking seems to say that he is loving 
me all the time and just the same as if he was with 
us still. Didn’t you love papa — love him with all 
your heart and soul ? ” 

Bessie by now was in the mood to ask such fearless 
questions. She showed it by the determined tone in 
her voice, the determined look in her eyes. 

Her mother half frowningly replied: 

“ Don’t be foolish, child. Youthful love is one 
thing, but real attachment based upon fundamental 
principles of life is quite another.” 

255 


256 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ What da you mean, mama ? ” queried the young 
girl in wide-eyed wonder. “ I am sure you really 
loved papa as all good wives love their husbands.” 

“ Oh, yes,” answered the mother, speaking in a semi- 
convincing, perfunctory fashion. “ But, as I have said 
before, I don’t like to see you going crazy over that 
watch and referring to it, no difference who happens 
to be here. You know, too, that your father had his 
faults.” 

“ No, I don’t,” exclaimed Bessie, defiantly. “ And 
this reminds me, as I grow older, that you have often 
talked in a half-critical way about my papa, and I 
don’t like to hear you do so. It sounds as if you never 
truly loved him. Yet you know he took the most 
tender care of us to the very last so long as he was 
able to do a day’s work. And I think that when a 
woman lives with a man she should keep mighty silent 
about his faults, if he has any.” 

“ Whew ! ” murmured Miriam in surprise at the un- 
looked-for antagonism she had aroused. “ One would 
think that my little Bessie was almost ready to be a 
wife herself.” 

“ Well, who knows? ” returned Bessie. “ But when 
I get a husband I am going to stick to him through 
thick and thin, and love him whether we live in a castle 
or in a one-room shack ’way out on the desert.” 

“ Oh, out on the desert, eh ? That sounds a great 
deal like Ned Collier’s experiences before he came to 
Los Angeles. I suppose he has been telling you all 
about love in a cottage and that sort of thing.” 

“ Mama, I’m no longer a child,” protested Bessie, 
with flaming eyes. “ I am a woman now. I don’t 


BESSIE SPEAKS HER MIND 


257 


like you to speak in that way about Ned. I never 
intend to let any cheap price tag be hooked onto my 
Ned.” 

" Your Ned! ” exclaimed the mother in mild amaze- 
ment. She arose from the chair and approaching the 
young girl laid a hand on her shoulder as if to soothe 
her excitement. “ Come, come, Bessie. Don’t show 
yourself so easily upset by little things.” 

“ Little things ! ” blazed forth Bessie. “ Why, I 
am Ned Collier’s promised wife, and I want you to 
know that I accept all the responsibility that goes with 
our engagement. And I don’t care whether Ned keeps 
his job or loses it — whether he is reduced to a lower 
salary or advanced to a higher one. It makes no dif- 
ference to me, not one bit. I am his and he is mine, 
and we shall fight it out on this line until we are parted 
by death.” 

Bessie’s announcement that she was engaged, the 
eager volubility with which she defended her lover, 
almost swept Miriam off her feet. But with a great 
effort she controlled her feelings, masking them by a 
smile. 

“ Romantic, very romantic,” she said. “ But when 
did this all come about? I have not even been con- 
sulted.” 

The little rebel was still up in arms. 

“ I know you haven’t been consulted,” she declared. 
“ I am surely old enough now to decide for myself 
whom I really love and am going to marry. You 
have lots of things about which you don’t consult me, 
or Bernice either. You never told us about that money 
poor papa gave you when he went away. But I found 


258 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


out about the nine hundred dollars which you put into 
the bank the day after he left us. I have a girl friend 
who used to be a stenographer down there, and she 
told me about all those dimes. She was set to count 
them, and knew in a moment that they were dear 
daddy’s savings, just as everyone else in the bank did.” 

Miriam flushed red with mingled surprise and hu- 
miliation. She was utterly at a loss to frame a reply. 
Bessie was in quieter mood now, but her voice was 
still quite determined as she continued : 

“ It doesn’t really matter, mama, how you look on 
this engagement. It is a straight game of love between 
Ned and me, whether you are nice to us or not. And 
I have been true to the promise I gave you not to 
marry until I am twenty-one. I told Ned that, and 
he is quite contented to wait. But you must treat my 
Ned right. I am fighting for him from now on. I 
am on his side all the time, and he himself says I am 
his little pal, and always will be. When Ned and I 
are married — ” 

Miriam by now had recovered herself. 

“ When Ned and you are married ! ” she exclaimed 
with a toss of her head. 

“ That’s all right, mother. If all goes well, it will 
be a formal wedding agreeable to you in about three 
years from now. But remember, it may be an elope- 
ment long before then if you don’t treat your little 
Bessie right. When Ned and I are married,” she re- 
peated, “ I am going to keep myself dressed up and 
just as attractive as any sweetheart can look. For I 
know Ned likes to see me neat and nice as if I had just 
stepped out of a band-box. And I am going to be a 


BESSIE SPEAKS HER MIND 


259 


good listener, too, to everything Ned says, and to be- 
lieve everything he does say as just right. I won’t be 
like that woman who was calling on you the other day 
and said she never could laugh at her husband’s stories. 
I am going to laugh at Ned’s stories, and I am going 
to like everything that Ned likes. I am going to like 
the movies he likes and the plays he likes, and I’m 
going to sing the songs he likes, and put the pieces he 
likes on the phonograph and play them for him.” 

Miriam listened but did not seek to interrupt as 
Bessie went on, nodding her head emphatically with 
each announced determination, just as if she had al- 
leady studied over the problems of married life until 
in her mind at least they had been freed from all com- 
plexity. 

“ And there is just one other thing I am going to do. 
I am going to be the most amiable little wife that ever 
lived. I am going to keep on praising him for his 
hustling qualities, the positions he climbs to and the 
achievements he makes with his fellow men. I’ll re- 
mind him at least twice a day how handsome and noble 
and brave and strong he is. That’s what I’m going 
to do. And there is one thing certain — I’ll never be 
a fault-finding and complaining nagger, but will just 
take pot luck with my Ned, whether it is plum-pudding 
or a crust of bread.” 

Miriam had flushed uncomfortably — she felt as if 
her own mental anatomy was being subjected to dis- 
section. 

“ But what about your career, Bessie ? ” she managed 
to ask with seeming solicitude for her daughter’s fu- 
ture. 


260 the man who discovered himself 


“ Career? Shucks! I would rather Ned and I had 
a little baby all our own than to be the greatest prima 
donna in the world. That’s what I think of a career 
on the stage, about which you are always talking. One 
may mean lots of money, but the other means lots of 
love and happiness. Every good woman in the world, 
I think, needs a little chubby baby to keep her heart 
warm — to bring out the best within her.” 

“ Well, come, I’ll sit down again for a moment, and 
we’ll talk things over in a practical sort of way. How 
much money has Ned saved? What are his prospects 
from his father in Arizona? ” 

So far from being conciliated by these questions, all 
the anger in Bessie’s soul showed signs of flaring up 
again. 

“ I never even thought to ask him such things,” she 
exclaimed indignantly. “ Why do you always worry 
about money, mother? All I care to know, and I know 
it, is that my Ned has a good head, and better still a 
good heart.” 

Miriam knit her brows arid gazed out of the window 
for quite a few moments. Then she turned to Bessie, 
and holding one of the girl’s hands in both her own, 
said : 

“ Bessie, my dear child, I am naturally much aston- 
ished at what you have told me — about being engaged 
to Ned Collier. Not that I have any serious objection 
to him, although at the same time I think you could 
have made a far better choice from among your many 
admirers. But in any case I had supposed Ned would 
have consulted me before proposing to you.” 

“ Why ? He doesn’t want to marry you.” 


BESSIE SPEAKS HER MIND 


261 


Miriam bit her lip, but went on, still in an amicable 
manner. 

“ Well, it would have been the usual thing to do — 
perhaps the more honorable.” 

The mother had returned to dangerous ground, and 
Bessie was ablaze again in a moment. 

“ Don’t even suggest that Ned can be dishonorable. 
Now just you mind that, mama. The proposal came 
quite naturally of itself this very afternoon, up in the 
little canyon among the foothills where we have often 
before gathered the tiger-lilies and the cowslips which 
my dear daddy used to love so much.” 

“ I always knew I should not have let you two chil- 
dren go wandering about the hills alone.” 

But Bessie paid no heed to the remark. 

“ I do not mind being quite candid with you, 
mother,” she continued. “ I had been thinking of 
papa, and perhaps there were tears in my eyes. Ned 
was moved too, and he kissed me, and I’m not ashamed 
to say that I put my arms round his neck and kissed 
him in return. For we were meant to be for each 
other; we were lovers from the very first day we met. 
So Ned told me this very day. And I know it is true 
as regards myself. Now, that’s plain talking, isn’t 
it? ” 

“ Very plain,” replied Miriam acidly. “ But it was 
my duty to have investigated Ned’s financial prospects 
before you committed yourself, Bessie. An engage- 
ment is an engagement, remember.” 

“ Oh, I won’t forget, for I am proud of mine,” re- 
torted Bessie. “ Ned Collier is strong up here ” — she 
tapped her own beautiful curly head with a forefinger 


262 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


— “ so can never be a failure. And my, but he is also 
strong right here, ,, she added, as she placed her plump 
little hand over her heart. “ That’s where he is 
stronger still and will always be, just as my good 
papa was.” 

“ You seem to take after your papa. He was al- 
ways a sentimentalist — an impracticable sentimental- 
ist.” The reference to her dead husband again had a 
touch of scorn. 

“ Then I’m glad to be a sentimentalist like him, and 
glad that my Ned is a sentimentalist, too. But there 
again, mother, you speak slightingly of papa. And I 
want to warn you — others notice the same thing. It 
makes them talk, too, and I am even beginning to hear 
that lots of people say you were not too good to your 
husband in any case.” 

Miriam paled to the very lips. 

“ Who dares to say that ? ” she faltered. 

“ Oh, never mind. People say it — that’s enough. 
And it is right you should know, for it may teach you 
that a woman can never glorify herself by calling atten- 
tion to her husband’s faults.” 

“ Teach me! ” murmured Miriam, almost speechless 
at Bessie’s audacity. 

“ It is never too late to learn,” the girl continued 
tranquilly. “ And as I am telling you a few things 
now, I may as well tell you some more — all for your 
own good, mama. You never introduced Burn Hop- 
kins to daddy; you never did let them meet. I am 
older now and I know it wasn’t right. And what’s 
more, Bernice doesn’t think it was right, nor Burn 
either.” 


BESSIE SPEAKS HER MIND 263 

“ Have you been discussing your mother with Ber- 
nice and Burn? ” 

“ No, but Burn has been talking it over with Bernice, 
and Bernice told me that Burn knew all the time that 
papa was working as a shoe-pegger and was almost 
dead from consumption. I like Burn all the more for 
that ; it shows how truly he loved Bernice. He is a real 
gentleman, and so was daddy, too, even though he did 
cobble shoes all his life so that he might provide for 
us — Bernice, you, and me. These things wouldn’t be 
spoken about now if you had treated poor papa right 
and been kind to him. And I don’t believe he went 
away because of the consumption at all.” Bessie gave 
a little sob ; her eyes filled. “ It was a broken heart — 
that’s what made him leave us.” And she burst into 
tears, weeping inconsolably as she bent down over the 
little table. 

A spell of silence followed. Then all of a sudden 
Bessie rose and, still weeping, left the room. 

Miriam sat with folded hands, thinking it all over. 
She felt crushed and humiliated. The secret of the 
money that her husband had left her was now open 
talk on the streets. Then, too, Burn knew the truth 
about Marsh Gordon’s occupation and ailments. And 
she alone had been kept in ignorance of all this pub- 
licity. She was embarrassed, indignant, ashamed. 

“ I never knew Bessie had such a temper,” she whis- 
pered to herself. “ But she takes it from her father. 
In his early years I have seen him in tantrums, although 
never with me, I must confess.” 

Confession is proverbially good for the soul. Al- 
ready Miriam was a little softened. 


264 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ Perhaps I didn’t use him just right,” she sighed, 
as she rested an elbow on the table and covered her 
eyes with her hand. 

A few minutes sped. Miriam glanced up when the 
door again opened. It was Bessie returning with a big 
glass pitcher in her hands. 

“ Water for my beautiful flowers,” she explained, 
as she proceeded to arrange the tiger-lilies in a vase. 
Next the cowslips were set in a great china bowl. 

Her task completed, Bessie stood silent for awhile. 
Miriam was -still in her pensive attitude. The young 
girl contemplated her, then glided to her side, bent over 
her, and kissed her brow affectionately. 

“ We mustn’t regret the past too much, mama dear,” 
she murmured. “We can only resolve to do better in 
the future.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


A PATRON OF ART 

F RANCOIS LAVIGNE’S home was remarkable in 
several respects. The exterior presented nothing 
out of the common, excepting, perhaps, that the exten- 
sive and beautiful flower garden showed pains and care 
not usually bestowed on floral luxuries in an arid region 
where results must necessarily depend on irrigation at 
frequent and regular intervals. The house was simply 
a plain and commodious framework building with 
broad verandas on three sides, these clothed with rose 
vines that bloomed all through the year. But the inte- 
rior was notably different from the usual rancher’s 
home in the Far West. 

On the walls of the big living room hung pictures 
that would have conferred distinction on any city 
home, masterpieces from the brushes of well-known 
artists, representing a very substantial outlay of capi- 
tal, if that consideration had ever entered into their 
owner’s mind. For Lavigne, if only a sheep-breeder 
and wool-grower, was a Frenchman to the tips of his 
fingers, and therefore a true lover of art in all its 
forms. This was further evidenced by an occasional 
porcelain or bronze on brackets and by the rich oriental 
rugs that covered the floor. Even the furniture was of 
the dainty French type, in contrast to the heavy Old 
265 


.266 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Mission chairs and tables so generally favored in Cali- 
fornia. 

On the sideboard in the dining room were displayed 
several massive silver cups, trophies of Lavigne’s suc- 
cess at agricultural shows, where his fine Rambouillet 
stock had been always in the prize-winning class until 
in later years, his fame established, he had withdrawn 
from such contests. In an adjoining cabinet was a 
complete set of crystal of beautiful pattern. For Fran- 
cois kept a diversified wine cellar, and dearly loved to 
sip the purple or amber juice of the grape from the 
appropriate glasses to which his younger days in his 
native France had accustomed him. The artist again, 
even in the matter of table appurtenances. 

But the most delightful feature of the Frenchman’s 
home was his good wife Hortense. She made no pre- 
tence of being anything more than of the peasant class. 
But she was the paragon of housewives, devoted to her 
home, proud of its treasures, never tired of keeping 
everything in spic-and-span orderliness. As regards 
cooking, she was a chef of the highest rank. Besides 
all this she was pretty in her plump petiteness, and with 
her sparkling black eyes she always looked bright and 
cheerful. Lavigne had gone back to France to marry 
her, his first and only sweetheart, and as the devoted 
couple invariably spoke French to each other and passed 
their lives virtually alone, Hortense had never acquired 
anything more than a smattering of English. But her 
quaint broken speech, when necessity compelled her to 
attempt the language, quite added to her many charms. 

To Jim Marshall, life in this happy home was almost 
a revelation. No care, no anxiety, no petty bickering, 


A PATRON OF ART 


267 


no worry of any kind; all smiles and serenity from 
morning to night; never a harsh expression, never a 
frown; affectionate words and looks and little dis- 
plays of tenderness at all times. It had not been a 
childless home — only children could have brought 
about these mellowing influences of mutual understand- 
ing and forbearance. But the boys and girls were 
away now in their own little worlds, married, rearing 
their own broods, but regularly in correspondence with 
the dear old folks in the dear old home. Hortense 
would often point with motherly love and pride to the 
family portraits that adorned the dainty boudoir where 
she did her sewing and mending, during what she was 
pleased to call her “ idle hours.” 

Under Lavigne's tuition, Jim Marshall was not only 
beginning to play a good game of chess, but he was 
even applying himself to the French tongue. For the 
love of knowledge was engrained in his soul, the chance 
to learn was ever to him a privilege, the process of 
learning never a labor but a delight. So he was soon 
beyond the stage of elementary instruction, and was 
now beginning both to understand and speak the lan- 
guage that was in constant use by his host and hostess. 

One evening after dinner, out on the front porch, 
the three friends were opening a bulky package that 
had arrived by postal rural delivery during the day. 
Several layers of cardboard had been set aside, and now 
an abundant packing of excelsior was being carefully 
picked out by Hortense’s deft fingers. At last she pro- 
duced a piece of china — a plaque for hanging* on the 
wall. It was a reproductk ^ of an old classical pas- 
toral scene — French shepherds and shepherdesses, 


268 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


hand-painted obviously, a work of art if not exactly a 
masterpiece. Hortense held it admiringly at arm’s 
length. 

“ Very pretty,” she exclaimed in French. “Very, 
very pretty.” 

Francois took it from her hand and bestowed a 
critical scrutiny. 

“ Yes, not half bad,” he commented, addressing Jim 
in English. “But you tell me the lady is an American, 
and lives in California. Why does she not do some- 
thing original then? Why copy French designs when 
there are all the beauties of the West for inspiration — 
mountains, rivers, lakes, trees and flowers and birds? 
Too bad; she paints well enough not to be a mere 
imitator.” 

“Perhaps she has not the genius of originality?” 
suggested Jim with a quiet smile. “ All the same, 
Francois, as I told you, I have taken a fancy to her 
work, and am going to buy a good deal of it.” 

“La, la!” cried Hortense, producing a vase from 
among the excelsior, and bestowing on it a glance of 
commendation. In quick succession there followed 
four other pieces, making an assortment of six in all. 
In each case the technical art was good, but the design 
was invariably a copy or a mere convention. 

“ Be advised by me,” said Francois, summing up 
Jim’s purchases. “ A collection of this kind has no 
chance to enhance in value.” 

“ Oh, I am not estimating cash values or thinking of 
reselling,” explained the art patron. “ I wish to do this 
lady, Miriam Gordon, a ”'od turn. See, here are her 
initials in the corner — M. G.” He had a bowl in his 


A PATRON OF ART 


269 


hand, and was pointing to the tiny pink monogram. 
“ But as I have said she must not know that I am the 
purchaser. Nor must the Western Art Studios 
through whom you have bought disclose even your 
name to her.” 

“ I made that clear in my letter — I made it a con- 
dition of future purchases. And I also said I would 
be prepared, if necessary, to better present prices by a 
hundred per cent.” 

“ Then have you got the invoice for this first con- 
signment ? ” 

“ Yes, it came three days ago.” Francois slipped a 
hand into his coat pocket, and sorted out the required 
paper from among a little bunch of letters. 

“ One hundred and twenty dollars,” read Jim aloud. 
“ That’s surely reasonable — twenty dollars apiece.” 

As he spoke his hand went to his money belt, from 
which he produced a wad of currency. He counted 
out the required sum, and passed it over to Francois. 

“ So, Francois, my dear fellow, you’ll remit the 
amount to that studio firm by your own check. And 
until I build my home, I am sure that my good friend 
Hortense will take care of my hand-painted porcelain 
treasures.” 

“ Surely, surely,” exclaimed Francois, conveying the 
request to Hortense in French. 

Hortense replied in the same language, and Jim 
understood her without aid of an interpreter. 

“ With the greatest of pleasure, monsieur. In my 
own boudoir. I have a cabinet there that will serve 
admirably.” 

There and then they carried the porcelain indoors, 


270 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


and within a few minutes the six pieces were arranged 
to best advantage on the shelves of the cabinet. The 
brightly colored china certainly added to the attractive- 
ness of an already attractive room. Hortense was 
delighted. 

“ Very nice, very pretty/’ she kept repeating as she 
surveyed the new adornments from all possible angles. 

A day or two later Miriam was calling on the man- 
ager of the Western Art Studios. She condescend- 
ingly accepted the firm’s check for ninety dollars, al- 
though she declared that a twenty-five per cent com- 
mission was highway robbery to which she could not 
possibly submit much longer. 

“ But we are selling to your very best advantage, 
madame,” explained the manager suavely. “ Indeed 
we think if you agree to deal through ur exclusively, 
we can now safely advance your prices by fifty per 
cent, and a little later on by fifty per cent more. We 
are consigning today at the enhanced rate these last 
ten pieces you sent from your home, and will have an- 
other check for you by the end of the month.” 

“ Who are the buyers? ” asked Miriam, with eager- 
ness she tried to conceal. 

“ We never disclose names without direct authority 
from the purchasers,” was the discreet reply. 

“ Oh, it really doesn’t matter,” said Miriam non- 
chalantly. “ In true art there can be absolute indiffer- 
ence as to where one’s best work goes on its mission of 
conferring pleasure. Good afternoon, Mr. Mains.” 

But as she swept from the office she was holding 
tight to her purse, congratulating herself on the ninety 
dollars within, sorely begrudging the thirty dollars sac- 


A PATRON OF ART 


271 


rificed to commission, and hungering in her heart for 
direct communication with the patrons of her art so 
that future spoliations of this kind might be avoided. 

The selfish woman is not infrequently so important 
in her own estimation that she stands in her own light 
and permits opportunities to pass by unseen, so that her 
very ignorance becomes the mausoleum of her reputa- 
tion. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE GREAT ROUND-UP 

T HE shuttle of time, tireless, unrelaxing, inexor- 
able, had gone on weaving the days into weeks, 
the weeks into months, and the months into years. In 
the words of Omar Khayyam : 

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, 
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit 
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, 

Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. 

Almost four years had been woven into the fabric of 
eternity — had written their story into the annals of 
the irrevocable past. 

For the young lovers, Ned Collier and Bessie Gor- 
don, they had been years of maturing mentality, of 
happy and beautiful companionship, of deepening trust 
and affection, of contented and uncomplaining waiting 
for the fruition of their fond hopes and dreams. 
For Miriam they had been years of supreme compla- 
cency ; she had earned steady and substantial remunera- 
tion from her artistic work, the contributions from her 
mysterious benefactor had been continued with unfail- 
ing regularity and steadily increasing liberality, her 
position in society and among her women’s clubs had 
been established with the security that financial pros- 
272 


THE GREAT ROUND-UP 


273 


perity most readily achieves. For Jim Marshall on his 
cattle ranch they had been years of unremitting toil, of 
keen-eyed vigilance, of accumulating prosperity and 
wealth beyond all the initial calculations he had ven- 
tured to set down as possible of realization. 

The Marshall Rancho was now one of the show- 
places of California. The 1280 acres of homestead 
lands presented a great unbroken expanse of verdure, 
surrounded and conveniently subdivided by close- 
meshed wire fencing, criss-crossed by irrigation 
ditches; bright green stands of alfalfa pasturage alter- 
nating with tall growths of Kaffir corn, succulent 
sorghum, the nodding plumes of millet and other rich 
feeding stuffs; with here and there mighty stacks of 
baled hay, and everywhere dotted over the landscape 
herds of fattening beeves and veritable ^armies of hogs 
grubbing the roots and garnering the scattered seeds 
where the cattle had fed in front of them — a picture 
of nature’s boundless productivity under the stimulat- 
ing and careful guidance of man’s highest intelligence. 
Around the big central reservoir, bordered and shaded 
by an inviting growth of willow trees, were usually 
congregated, morning and evening, droves of the breed- 
ing cows that roamed the foothills and canyons in the 
back country, these free foragers having acquired the 
habit of descending on occasion to cool their feet in 
the pleasant water and partake of its perennial abun- 
dance. 

Within a little distance of the modest cottage which 
served the owner of the great ranch as dwelling place 
and office, were the bunk-houses of the agricultural la- 
borers, the great sheds that housed their plows, culti- 


274 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


vators, and wagons, the original log-cabin of the 
Reilly-Burke days, where the now numerous band of 
cowboys ate and slept, the corrals where their ponies 
rested, the massively constructed yards where the stock 
at regular intervals were drafted and sorted out — the 
calves for branding, the three-year-old steers for pas- 
turing so that they might be finally “ topped-up ” for 
the beef markets, the old and worn out breeders for 
the discard at the best price attainable for hoofs, horns, 
and hide. 

Altogether a marvelous transformation wrought by 
industry, foresight, and, what the banker O’Meara had 
so tersely characterized as the best of all land fertil- 
izers, brains ! 

In the spring of each year was the great annual 
round-up, when the vast roaming herds on the range,, 
together with every stray maverick that had hitherto 
escaped the branding iron, were driven in for stock- 
taking purposes. This had come to be a notable event 
for all the countryside. The last day was invariably 
attended by the small ranchers from a wide radius, 
together with their wive’s and daughters. It had 
grown to be a sort of gala day, on which Jim Mar- 
shall dispensed unbounded hospitality, rival cowboys 
competed for prizes in contests for lariat throwing and 
steer roping, and the festivities closed with a dance for 
the young people in one of the big barns, festooned for 
the celebration with flags and gay bunting. Strangers 
were made welcome ; the spirit of friendship and broth- 
erhood reigned supreme. 

On the present occasion Jim had noticed the pres- 
ence of a sharp- featured little man whose clothes be- 


THE GREAT ROUND-UP 


275 


spoke the city rather than the open air life. This indi- 
vidual was clearly of an inquiring turn of mind — he 
had inspected the main buildings and the outbuildings ; 
the reservoir, the pasturages, the herds of cattle, the 
droves of hogs, the scores of nimble cow-ponies, some 
on duty, the others in the corrals. He had even asked 
for a guide and ascended the little canyon to the source 
of the water supply. Nothing seemed to have escaped 
his attention. 

It was afternoon, the last figures about the stock had 
been entered in the ranch owner’s note book, the sports 
had begun, and Jim was strolling around the ring, chat- 
ting with friends and neighbors, occasionally patting a 
child on the head, exchanging*a word with the mother, 
sometimes causing the young girls to blush by his good- 
humored compliments, making everybody feel that they 
were welcome guests of the rancho. After a while he 
strolled away toward a big pit where two prime fat 
beeves were being cooked for the barbecue that would 
follow the contests and displays of cowboy skill and 
daring. 

He was inquiring of the boss cook how things were 
progressing when the inquisitive stranger drew near. 
He was still on the quest for information. 

“ Would you be so kind as -to give me the exact 
figures of your stock, Mr. Marshall? ” he asked, pro- 
ducing a memorandum book from his pocket. 

Jim had already scented what was in the air. He 
smiled and from memory enumerated the different 
classes of stock — breeding cows and blooded bulls, 
these last of highest grade pedigree stock that had been 
specially brought in at intervals from Wyoming and 


276 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Colorado; three-year-olds, two-year-olds, and calves; 
hogs, cow-ponies, mules and draught horses. 

“ Now, we’ll check these figures off from my rec- 
ord,” Jim added, bringing forth his own note book, 

just to make sure that I have made no error.” 

There was no error; the tally had been absolutely 
accurate. 

“ Perhaps you wouldn’t mind speaking with me for 
a few minutes in your office?” requested the stranger. 

“ Certainly not,” answered Jim as he led the way. 

Soon they were seated in the office, unpretentiously 
furnished — big roller-top desk, a safe in one corner, 
a telephone on the wall, and curiously enough an old 
battered sombrero of the tall Mexican type suspended 
at the window as if it had been a pot of ferns. 

The visitor glanced at this strange adornment with 
a look of unconcealed questioning. 

“ Just a fancy of mine,” explained Jim laughingly. 
4i P^ memory’s sake — the gift long ago of a mighty 
good friend — my mascot, I sometimes think, as I 
have often told him. Now please be seated. What 
can I do for you ? ” 

“ Here is my business card,” the other began after 
taking the chair beside the desk, the top of which Jim 
had already thrown up. “ You will see that I repre- 
sent the biggest firm of packers in Kansas City. But 
I have full credentials with me, if we can arrive at an 
understanding. Excuse me for a minute or two; I 
wish to do a little figuring.” 

Jim drew out the sliding board of the desk for the 
visitor’s convenience. The proffer of a writing pad 
was declined ; the note book with its record of the stock- 


THE GREAT ROUND-UP 


277 


taking was again brought forth and utilized for the 
task of ciphering. The computation was rapidly made, 
and the book was closed with a smart snap. 

“ We’ll pay you $350,000 for the entire shooting 
match — stock, land and improvements, water rights, 
everything as the place stands today thrown in — 
purely personal belongings of course excepted.” 

It was a king’s ransom, and the offer had come with 
startling suddenness. But Jim Marshall betrayed no 
surprise or excitement — not even by the quiver of an 
eyelash. 

“ Cash ? ” he asked quietly. 

“ Cash down,” was the prompt reply. “ I have 
brought with me a certified check for $250,000 drawn 
by the firm, and you can wire our bankers that my per- 
sonal check for the balance will be at once honored.” 

The certified check was presented for Jim’s inspec- 
tion ; it was already drawn in his favor. 

“ You certainly do business in rapid style, Mr. 
Scott,” smiled Jim. “ How do you know I am ready 
to sell?” 

“ Oh, I looked over your property a year or so ago. 
You happened to be down in Yuma at the time, but I 
saw enough to satisfy me. I am not here to dicker over 
terms. I had no idea that you had so many head of 
stock. I have simply figured out present market 
values. I know to a dot what these cattle are worth 
to my firm today on the hoof. Nor have I forgotten 
to take into account that the branch railroad from 
Submarine Junction has at last been begun and will, 
when completed, reduce the costs of shipping. So you 
see everything has been calculated, fairly and squarely. 


278 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


It only remains for you to accept or decline my offer. 

I won’t raise it by a dollar.” 

44 Oh, I am not for dickering any more than yourself, 
my friend,” responded Jim. “ I recognize that it is a 
mighty fine price for me when I consider what I paid 
for the place only four years ago.” 

44 Nobody can begrudge you your profit, Mr. Mar- 
shall. I remember the old ranch when Reilly and 
Burke owned it. If it had remained in their thriftless 
hands its present value would be nearer $35,000 than 
$350,000, even with the price of cattle gone up close 
on fifty per cent since four years ago. The splendid 
developments are yours. When I first heard that you 
had put in a private telephone wire to Yuma, I knew 
you were going to make a big thing of it.” 

44 It has been my particular business to watch the 
markets day by day. That’s why I know now that 
your offer is a fair one.” 

44 Then you accept it? ” 

44 Yes, it’s a deal,” replied Jim as he pushed back 
his chair. 44 This check on account is all the creden- 
tials I require. We’ll just draw up a memorandum of 
agreement as to the payment of the balance.” 

Jim stepped over to the typewriting machine, ad- 
justed paper and carbon, and set himself to his task. 
The man from Kansas City watched, following the 
quick tap, tap, tap of the keys, the unhesitating choice 
of words. And a few minutes later, too, he wondered 
when he read a properly drawn legal agreement, ex- 
pressed in crisp, terse, and professional terms. 

44 You are certainly a marvel,” exclaimed the party 
of the second part after a careful perusal of the docu- 


THE GREAT ROUND-UP 


279 


ment. “ I did not know that you were a lawyer.’* 

The party of the first part smiled. 

“A bit -of *a Jack-of-all trades, eh? Well, when 
need drives even the dullard may learn. Now I’ll get 
a couple *of witnesses to our signatures.” 

He rose, advanced to the open door, *and promptly 
called out : 

“ Hallo, Francois, the very man I wanted. Come 
here, and bring Hortense with you.” 

A moment later Mr. and Mrs. Lavigne entered. 
Brief introductions were made. The signatures were 
duly attested without explanations asked by or given 
to the witnesses. The Marshall Rancho was sold, 
although for the moment Jim’s good neighbors did not 
know it. 

Marshall locked the completed document and the 
certified check in the safe. 

“May I use your phone?” asked the visitor. “ I 
want to telegraph to Kansas City.” 

“ Certainly,” was the laughing reply. “ The place 
is yours or your firm’s. We shall drink to the health 
of the new owners of the Rancho tonight at the bar- 
becue.” 

“ Jim — you haven’t sold out ? — we are not going 
to lose you ? ” exclaimed Lavigne, anxiously and re- 
gretfully. 

Marshall laid a hand affectionately on the French- 
man’s shoulder. 

“True friends never lose each other, Francois, al- 
though they may be parted. But I won’t be very far 
away and we’ll visit each other often — don’t you 
worry about that. Come with me now. I’ll tell you. 


280 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


all about the deal. We shall leave Mr. Scott to get 
through with his telephoning.” 

Two days later a telegram came through to the 
Rancho. It was from Ned Collier. 

“ It’s all in the newspapers, and I am wild with joy. 
They say you have cleaned up a round million. Con- 
gratulations, dear old boy.” 

The reply that went out ran as follows : 

“ The newspaper figures are away ofif. But never 
mind ; a mighty fine deal. I am leaving for ‘Phoenix 
to carry out my long-standing promise of making ac- 
quaintance with your gbod old dad and I hope your 
kind mother also. 

“ Everlastingly yours, Jim.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 

IN THE CITY OF PHOENIX 

YEAR later Jim Marshall was seated in a sump- 



l tuously furnished lawyer’s office in the city of 
Phoenix, Arizona. Mahogany desk, table, and chairs, 
a fine red Turkish rug, a handsome bookcase containing 
a compact legal library, all suggested good taste com- 
bined with opulence. Jim had a big, sheep-bound vol- 
ume before him on the desk, and while he read he 
made occasional notations on a sheet of paper by his 
side. His attitude was a studious one, he was intent 
on his occupation, even though he was not alone in the 


room. 


A man in his shirt -sleeves and wearing an apron 
was quietly painting -an inscription on the glass panel 
of the door. His task was almost completed, for he 
opened the door and read the lettering from the outside 
to assure himself that everything was correct. Still 
leaving the door open, he approached the desk defer- 
entially. 

“ Would you kindly glance at this, sir ? I think it is 
all right.” 

Jim rose, crossed the room, and read the inscrip- 
tion : 


281 


282 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


-205- 

COLLIER AND MARSHALL 
Attorneys-at-Law 


James Marshall 
private 

Inquire at General Offices, Room 204 

Jim spelled over the words and assented that every- 
thing was in order. The man gathered up his pot of 
paint, mahl-stick, and other belongings, and withdrew, 
closing the door behind him. Jim remained standing 
near the middle of the room. His eyes were still on 
the now reversed lettering. A smile of satisfaction 
broke over his countenance, and he murmured to him- 
self half-aloud: 

“ Well, well, wonders will never cease. To think 
that I, once the absolute down-and-outer, am now a 
full-fledged attorney, admitted to practice at the bar, 
partner of such a man as Ledgerwood Collier. Four 
years at Submarine, four years on the rancho, one year 
here — nine years in all. Just one year more, then the 
term of my ordeal will be completed. Won’t Miriam 
be amazed — delighted, I should say, too, when she 
beholds me so completely transformed? ” 

He moved over to the mantel and surveyed himself 
in the mirror, not with any thought of vanity, just in a 
spirit of thankful contentment. The intellectual-look- 
ing, clean-shaven face, rotund and full yet with clearly- 
cut features; the broad shoulders; the proudly erect 
carriage; the immaculate collar and necktie, the latter 
with a single pearl for stick-pin; the abundant hair 


IN THE CITY OF PHOENIX 


283 


peppered with the grey that gave an added touch of 
dignity to his presence — all might have made any 
man on the borderland of sixty mighty proud of him- 
self. But Jim’s heart was only filled with gratitude to 
the divine Providence that had restored him to health 
and raised him to abundant prosperity, and while he 
surveyed the personage in the mirror he was contrast- 
ing it with the well remembered picture he had pre- 
sented nine years before — the emaciated cheeks, the 
hollow eyes, the scanty locks, the stooping shoulders, 
the shrinking, apologetic, timid mien of the man who 
knows himself to be both a physical and a social dere- 
lict. 

Just a little over a year ago Jim Marshall had trans- 
ferred his personal belongings from the rancho to the 
state capital of Arizona. He had come there only with 
vaguely defined intentions. But he knew that the cli- 
mate would suit him — the dry desert climate that had 
restored him to perfect health and to which he was 
determined to stick for the rest of his days. Then he 
felt sure that he would find congenial companionship 
of a higher intellectual quality than was possible out 
on the desert. It was Ned Collier’s father, however, 
who was the real lodestone that had drawn him to 
Phoenix. 

During the days at Submarine Ned had spoken so 
frequently, fondly, and admiringly of his “dear old 
dad ” that Jim had seemed to know him well before 
they met. And Ledgerwood Collier, when the two 
men at last came to clasp hands, declared that he al- 
ready counted Jim Marshall as an intimate friend, for 
Ned’s letters had told him all about his scholarship, 


284 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


fine thoughts, and splendid influences on the lad him- 
self during the period of their comradeship. Ned had 
long ago informed his father of the solemn promise 
he had exacted from Jim that the latter should some 
day journey to Phoenix and make the acquaintance- 
ship of hrs parents. So the visit was counted simply 
as the payment of a long overdue debt, and Jim was 
promptly transferred from the hotel where he had 
taken up quarters to the hospitable Collier home. 

There, during the two weeks of his visit, he delighted 
both the mother and the father with his reminiscences 
and accumulated news about their son. For although 
Ned and Jim had been parted all these years, the weekly 
interchange of letters had never been interrupted. 
And Jim was really Ned’s one confidant, so he was 
able to tell the old folks at home some things they had 
not known before. 

They had already been made acquainted with Ned’s 
engagement to Bessie Gordon. Jim felt quite empow- 
ered and competent to expatiate on the beauty of the 
young lady, her charms and accomplishments, her 
splendid voice, her mastery of the piano. He even 
described Bessie’s mother in flattering terms — her so- 
cial distinction, her genius for painting, her well-bal- 
anced mind that had made her quite a leader among 
the women of the West. Then Bernice and Burn 
Hopkins were also referred to approvingly, and the 
impression left on the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Ledger- 
wood Collier was that their son Ned was a lucky 
fellow indeed, marrying into such a distinguished 
family. 


IN THE CITY OF PHOENIX 


285 


The incident that the dead father, Marsh Gordon, 
was never referred to during these conversations in- 
flicted no selfish pang on Jim Marshall. His face al- 
ways glowed with pleasure when he was singing the 
praises of Miriam, Bernice, and Bessie. The Colliers 
were just a trifle jealous that Ned had sent to him so 
much more detailed information than to them. But 
Jim explained it all with that wonderfully sweet smile 
of his and the endearingly spoken words: “ Ah, but 
Ned and I were chums — we are yet — real chums.” 
And the man’s great love for the boy that so obviously 
filled his soul endeared him greatly to Ned’s parents. 

Early during the visit Ledgerwood Collier had dis- 
covered to his surprise that Jim Marshall’s favorite 
reading was law, and that he already possessed a small 
but useful library of legal books, the careful study of 
which was made manifest by the marginal notes and 
the underscores that were present on nearly every 
page. This had prompted an almost random remark 
by the attorney : 

“ Man alive, why don’t you take to the law? You 
are already better equipped than many men I know 
practising today at the Arizona bar.” 

The seed had been sown on fertile ground ; it quickly 
germinated. 

“ How long before I could be admitted to the prac- 
tice of law in the State of Arizona? ” inquired Jim the 
very next morning. 

“ Oh, you must have been a resident in the State for 
a full year before you can take the examination. So 
you will have to wait till the expiry of that period. 


286 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


But I do believe you could pass the examination right 
away, after just a little study perhaps of the actual 
practice of the law.” 

This conversation had had quite momentous results. 
Jim became a student of law in Mr. Collier’s own 
offices, assiduously reading, working on cases and pre- 
paring briefs under the attorney’s guidance, although 
not, of course, taking any active part in the trials; also 
attending the law courts regularly as a keenly inter- 
ested listener and watcher of procedure. 

At the end of a year he had passed the required 
examination with flying colors and been admitted to the 
bar. The first result of this was the inscription that 
had just been painted on the glass panel: “ Collier 
and Marshall: Attorneys-at-Law.” For the 
two men, now fast friends, had entered into partner- 
ship immediately Jim was qualified so to do. 

There had been a little discussion about the name 
“ Jim.” Its owner clung to it tenaciously for a time, 
but ultimately a decision had been arrived at that 
“ James ” was the only possible form to appear upon 
an attorney’s office door and professional card. So 
Jim Marshall had at last blossomed forth as “ Mr. 
James Marshall,” although to all his friends and asso- 
ciates he remained just plain and simple “ Jim.” The 
abbreviated name was the badge of his popularity, the 
seal of the affection which his personality inspired in 
every quarter where he made acquaintances. 

Jim had turned from the mirror and once more was 
settling himself at his desk when Ledgerwood Collier 
entered the room by the side door communicating with 
the general offices. He was a handsome, florid, dis- 


IN THE CITY OF PHOENIX 287 

tinguished-looking man, perhaps just a few years older 
than his new partner. 

“ Hello, Jim,” Collier began. “ I have been sign- 
ing a check for that painter fellow. So you’ve hung 
out your shingle at last ” — pointing to the door. 
“ Congratulations, and all good luck, old fellow.” 

Jim had risen and, taking the proffered hand, re- 
sponded with a fervent handshake. 

“ Yes, I’m feeling fairly launched on my new ca- 
reer. Thanks for your kind words. But I owe every- 
thing to you, Collier, as regards this law business. It 
is you who have helped me over all difficulties.” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! Instead of congratulating 
you, Jim, in point of fact I should be congratulating 
myself. Almost from the start here, you became in- 
dispensable to me. While you have been nominally 
attending school, you have prepared scores of cases 
for me better than I could have done for myself. You 
have thus enabled me to get into the political game in 
a way that would have been impossible otherwise. 
And now that you are a full-fledged partner, my hands 
during the coming year will be freer still. Walter 
Bacon assures me that Fll carry the state for Gov- 
ernor. He had a telegram last night from Prescott 
saying that the party there is solid for me, and I know 
myself that only another rousing meeting in Douglas 
is required to swing the voters of that county into line. 
I’m just telling you this, Jim, to show you how most 
of the court work will fall on your shoulders until the 
election is over. I must be up and doing and beating 
around, all the time.” 

Jim smiled pleasedly. 


288 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ I’m glad of your confidence, Collier. You know 
I’ll do my best to help you, both as regards the firm’s 
work and also to secure your nomination. I do be- 
lieve,” Jim went on with a smile, “ there is a little bit 
of the war-horse in me after all. Did you hear me 
cheering you last night? It was certainly a great 
speech you gave us. I forgot that I wasn’t at a base- 
ball game.” 

Both men laughed. 

“ Which reminds me, Jim, that we are due at the 
Elks’ gathering'tonight. You haven’t forgotten about 
your election, have you? And I hope you’ve profited 
by the private tip I gave you, to be ready with a few 
appropriate remarks after your initiation — about the 
flag, you know, and so forth.” 

“ I have never been accustomed to public speaking,” 
replied Jim, in a somewhat diffident tone. But his 
look quickly brightened. “ However, as an attorney 
now, I am committed to the game. And, somehow, 
I’m not afraid.” 

“ No need to be, that’s certain,” remarked his part- 
ner. “ Well, I’ll come round to your hotel just before 
seven. We’ll go together to the hall. Remember, it’s 
a dress affair. Oh, you’ll meet a jolly bunch of good 
fellows and have a great night.” 

James Marshall now occupied a fine suite of rooms 
in the best hotel in town. There he was enabled to 
live comfortably and on occasion to entertain his 
friends, without any of the worries of bachelor house- 
keeping. 

By seven o’clock he was in evening clothes and ready 
for his friend and sponsor to the brotherhood of Elks. 


IN THE CITY OF PHOENIX 


289 


It proved a notable event for the new member. 
After his initiation with his class of novitiates, and the 
various secret ceremonies appertaining thereto, just as 
Collier had discreetly warned him, the new members 
were called upon for a few words. When Jim’s turn 
came, he spoke without notes, with no labored signs of 
preparation, just simply and naturally yet with an 
inspired eloquence that held his audience spellbound. 
His beautiful well-trained voice of the old singing days 
had long since returned, and it was with the finely 
modulated, rotund notes of a born orator that he 
gave expression to the sentiments that animate all true 
Elks. His speech was punctuated by cheers, while his 
peroration evoked a veritable whirlwind of applause. 
It was in the following terms : 

“ Friendship between man and man is the under- 
lying principle of this great organization — the inspira- 
tion, the motive that impelled the founding of the 
Order of Elks, an institution that within a few brief 
years has so commended itself to American manhood 
that its lodges are now to be found throughout the 
length and breadth of our beloved country and have 
followed the national flag into our distant overseas 
possessions. 

“ An organization — a brotherhood — which has 
appealed to the highest intelligence and spoken to the 
hearts of men, loyal American citizens, in accents of 
truth and wisdom, is certainly entitled to our devo- 
tion and to the respect of mankind universal. Friend- 
ship, my brothers, has ever contributed to the highest 
ideals of honor and to the development of the sub- 


290 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


limest qualities of the soul. Friendship is the genius 
of all greatness, humanity, and progress; indeed, it is 
a 4 something ’ that pulses in the heart rather than a 
sentiment that can be defined by words. 

44 I have sometimes thought that if we could place 
in our souls a harp so delicately attuned that every gale 
of passion, of hope, of sorrow, of love and of joy, could 
sweep over its chords, then we would hear, in low, 
plaintive whisperings, the melody of friendship's 
sweetest song; and from what I have witnessed here 
tonight, methinks that every good Elk has a harp 
within his soul and likewise a soul within his harp. 

“ Within my hands I hold an emblem which you 
have given me tonight. Let us not forget the sacrifices 
our forefathers made for this priceless talisman, this 
thing of beauty and joy forever, symbol of freedom, 
ensign of liberty — our glorious and immaculate flag. ,, 

Jim was not aware that his address had been taken 
down in shorthand, by the secretary of the lodge who 
happened to be also an official reporter at the law 
courts. No sooner had the speaker resumed his seat 
than a motion was put to the assemblage that “ the 
splendid oration to which we have just listened ” — so 
ran the words of the resolution — should be printed 
and sent to the members of every lodge of Elks in 
Arizona. 

There was, naturally, widespread newspaper pub- 
licity as well, and in this way it came about that the 
name of James Marshall, the new law partner of the 
already celebrated Ledgerwood Collier, popular can- 
didate for the governorship, was soon known in all 


IN THE CITY OF PHOENIX 


291 


important centres of population throughout the state. 
In Phoenix, his home for over a year, he had already 
established his reputation as a man of high ability, of 
indubitable rectitude, and — perhaps not the least im- 
portant consideration — of abundant means. 

Before coming to Phoenix Jim, through the medium 
of his good friend, Banker O’Meara, had discreetly 
and wisely, nothwithstanding the high rates of interest 
in the Far West, converted $300,000 of his cash into 
United States Government bonds. While these bonds 
earned only a comparatively moderate income as com- 
pared with many western gilt-edged investments he 
might have made with but little speculative risk, never- 
theless he had the satisfaction of knowing that his 
security was absolute, and his interest punctually paid 
at regular intervals and in amount far exceeding his 
personal requirements. 

Even then, with nearly $100,000 made up from the 
accumulated profits of the rancho and the balance of 
the sale price of stock and land, he was one of the 
richest citizens of Phoenix, keeping, from motives of 
fairness and shrewd policy, a substantial credit balance 
at every bank in the city, always ready to give liberal 
financial backing to any local enterprise of reasonable 
promise, and never hesitating — so it came to be said, 
although he himself divulged nothing about such mat- 
ters — to bestow generous help on those who were 
down in their luck or temporarily embarrassed. 

One of his early local investments had been in 
eighty acres of orchard land just beyond the city 
limits, a fine property on which he intended eventually 
to build a home. Meanwhile a skilled manager was 


292 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


in charge. A novel feature of this place was a “ Trav- 
ellers’ Rest-House,” as Jim called it. Here the tramp, 
willing to work, was given good accommodation, board, 
and pay, helped to a permanent job if he desired and 
deserved it, or passed on his way with a few honestly 
earned dollars in his pocket. 

Thus within the single year of his residence in Ari- 
zona, James Marshall, with no deliberate effort on his 
part and almost unbeknown to himself, had spread his 
fame far and wide among rich and poor alike. The 
well-to-do looked upon him as a buttress of strength 
to the whole community; the down-and-outers as a 
veritable Godsend, the true humanitarian, the kindly 
helper in many cases to recovered self-respect and a new 
start in life. So his name was blessed, in the very 
fullest meaning of the good old Scriptural phrase. 

The reason some men itower SO' high above their 
fellows is that they are possessed of that peculiar com- 
bination of brain and heart that causes them almost 
unconsciously to stoop low, even to the grass roots of 
humanity, and, sharing in their hopes and fears, sym- 
pathize at all times with the humble and oppressed. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE NEW GOVERNOR OF ARIZONA 

W ITHIN a very few weeks after his admission to 
legal practice, James Marshall had fully estab- 
lished his reputation as a lawyer — indeed he had 
leaped into the position of one of the acknowledged 
leaders at the Phoenix bar. 

With him, however, the mere earning of money or 
professional fame was quite a secondary consideration. 
He had not only become greatly attached to Ledger- 
wood Collier on the latter’s own account, but deep 
down in Jim’s heart there lurked the feeling of loyalty 
to Ned — the very feeling that had almost uncon- 
sciously to himself brought him to Phoenix. To Ned 
Collier, who away out there on the desert had taken 
him in and made a comrade of him in the hour of 
direst distress, he owed everything he possessed. Ned 
needed no help, and had shown himself too proudly 
sensitive to accept anything even suggesting repayment 
for the priceless services he had rendered. 

But for Jim there was a way out. Ned loved his 
father, held him in highest admiration, would count 
any triumph for “ the old man ” as a triumph for him- 
self, the son. So anything done for Ledgerwood Col- 
lier would be done for Ned. Along this line of direc- 
tion Jim saw a chance partly to discharge his debt of 
gratitude — not from any petty motive of freeing him- 
2Q3 


294 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


self from the sense of obligation but out of loyal love 
for the youth who had been his aid and benefactor. 

Therefore as the time for the nomination of candi- 
dates at the ensuing election drew near, Jim freed his 
hands by declining a number of court cases, and, to the 
delight of Ledgerwood Collier, announced his intention 
of stumping the state with him and rendering the full- 
est help possible. Collier had come to know the won- 
derful magnetic influence of the man. The voluntary 
offer really anticipated a request he had been on the 
verge of venturing, and it was most gladly accepted. 

In every town they visited James Marshall's name 
was already more or less known, and it only required 
one of his pungent vigorous addresses from the ros- 
trum to win for him enthusiastic and assured popular- 
ity. At first, from the old shyness born of a naturally 
retiring disposition, he had wanted to be only a sup- 
porter of the candidate — to leave to Ledgerwood Col- 
lier and the other trained party leaders the oratorical 
prominence that was rightfully theirs. But when Col- 
lier had promptly discovered that Marshall could sway 
an audience as could no other man in his following — 
could, at will, rouse them to frantic enthusiasm or hush 
them to not less impressive stillness — he was well con- 
tent to thrust this new recruit to his cause right into 
the forefront of the battle line. Collier had no spark 
of jealousy in his mental make-up. He had his own 
individual ambitions, naturally. But it was for his 
party and its political faith that he was fighting, and 
the most effective weapon for the achievement of vic- 
tory was the one weapon to be employed, irrespective 
of all personal considerations. 


THE NEW GOVERNOR OF ARIZONA 295 


Another qualification for public speaking and one 
that added immeasurably to Marshall’s reputation was 
brilliant swiftness in repartee and the happy knack of 
coining a phrase that was quite liable to be quoted by 
the newspaper press as an epigram and to pass from 
lip to lip around the town for many days subsequent to 
its utterance. For example, on one occasion he was 
heckled on the platform by an elector notoriously in- 
terested in wild-cat speculation in oil lands. “ Will 
your candidate support legislation for oil-drilling by 
the state ?” asked the individual, Dennis Murphy by 
name, supplementing his question by the breezy and un- 
conventional remark that it would be a “ devil of a fine 
thing for Arizona.’’ “ Perhaps it might, Mr. Mur- 
phy,” replied Marshall suavely, “ but allow me to re- 
mind you that there is a devil of a distance between 
a derrick and a dividend.” The audience roared with 
laughter, which was echoed next day through the state 
when the quick retort was made a head-liner in nearly 
every newspaper. And many of his utterances gained 
similar wide publicity because of their depth of 
thought, and the truth they embalmed. “ An unrea- 
sonable hope in politics is better than reasoned out na- 
tional despair ” — such an aphorism of optimism pro- 
vided food for reflection long after a meeting had dis- 
persed. And there were few of Jim’s orations but 
were similarly gemmed with sayings worth while to be 
placed in the storehouse of memory. 

So it quickly came about that James Marshall found 
himself in universal demand as a speaker for his party 
throughout the state. The campaign proceeded stren- 
uously, and Jim, who at the outset had modestly sug- 


296 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


gested to his friend that perhaps he might have “ a 
little bit of the war-horse in him after all,” had soon 
abundantly proved that he was a fighter through and 
through, a gifted orator, a leader of men, a power to be 
reckoned with and relied upon in the hour of emer- 
gency. 

In due time the county conventions were completed 
and delegates elected to the great state convention 
to be held at Phoenix. At this assemblage there were 
at the outset only two nominations — the one Ledger- 
wood Collier, the other a well-known party leader who 
had once before filled the gubernatorial chair. It had 
been previously agreed that only a two-thirds majority 
would nominate. The first ballot showed that the 
votes were almost evenly divided between the contes- 
tants. 

Then followed one of those obstinate and prolonged 
tugs-of-war so characteristic of American politics. 
Neither side would yield an inch. Ballot after ballot 
was taken — adjournment after adjournment was 
made, only for the convention, on its re-assembling, to 
reballot in stubborn fashion and with the result still 
unchanged. This deadlock continued for three whole 
days. No breach in the ranks of either faction was 
visible — the chance of effecting such a breach ap- 
peared to be hopeless. Not even physical exhaustion 
could weaken the dogged resolve to make no surrender 
in this hotly contested political fight. 

It was the third night of the convention, and the 
hour was late — close upon eleven o’clock. Both con- 
testants had retired to their homes, worn-out with the 
ceaseless button-holing, the attacks and counter-attacks, 


THE NEW GOVERNOR OF ARIZONA 297 


the prolonged and heated arguments which each time 
proved so utterly unprofitable as regards actual results. 
If the truth were to be confessed, the two rivals, al- 
though stalwart party men, were about tired of the 
whole business and ready, by individual sacrifice for 
the benefit of the party, to accept any suggestion that 
might bring the deadlock to an end. And a dark 
horse candidate began to be whispered about the cor- 
ridors as perhaps the only solution possible. 

The chairman was about to accept a motion of ad- 
journment to the following day when suddenly a close 
friend of Collier’s opponent claimed the attention of 
the convention. He was one of the most noted men 
in the state, an excellent speaker, a citizen of unim- 
peachable reputation and wide influence. So he had 
no difficulty in holding the meeting in a perfect calm 
when, by way of introduction, he eloquently lauded the 
principle of party loyalty and unity. But, he went on, 
there were occasions when, in the interest of the party, 
all personal considerations must be waived and the 
spirit of compromise be manifested. After briefly re- 
viewing the splendid attributes of the two candidates 
— his own particular friend, the former Governor, and 
the Hon. Ledgerwood Collier — he moved that some 
third individual be nominated, some one not so closely 
identified with party fighting and therefore likely to 
be acceptable to both rival groups of delegates and also 
to the electors of the state as a whole. In this way, 
he suggested, Arizona would secure a governor accept- 
able to all its citizens, and within the party itself po- 
litical asperities would be softened, political wounds 
healed, during his tenure of office. 


298 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


This able address had been received with much 
cheering, showing that ground had at least been broken 
for a solution of the difficulty. But before the motion 
could be seconded James Marshall sprang to his feet. 
He climbed on top of his chair so that he might be 
better seen and, when the time came, better heard. 
For a moment he stood with squared shoulders and 
arms resolutely folded across his breast. His seat 
happened to be right in the centre of the hall, and all 
eyes were quickly turned in his direction. His popu- 
larity and his commanding presence united to secure 
for him instant and respectful attention. 

He began with a slow, plain, straightforward sum- 
mary of the issues that had resulted in this bitter con- 
test. The speaker’s enunciation was clear and distinct 
— the voice at first calm but gradually rising as state- 
ment changed to appeal. And soon Jim’s soul was 
afire, and he blazed forth with an intensity and argu- 
mentative forcefulness that swept everything before 
him. The audience hung upon his every word, and 
at the close rose in a body to shout their approval. 

The message of James Marshall had been to point 
out the unfairness of permitting anyone to withdraw 
the name of Ledgerwood Collier in his absence, even 
though the supporters of the other candidate might 
indicate their readiness to capitulate on the terms that 
had been suggested. 

“ No, no, no,” Marshall had emphatically declared, 
“ a man who has stood in the front of Arizona devel- 
opment, has borne the brunt of Arizona politics, for 
more than twenty-five years, such a man should not be 
deserted during his absence. He should be here to 


THE NEW GOVERNOR OF ARIZONA 299 


take part in the deliberations with a chance to fight to 
the finish, fairly and in the open, as you all know 
Ledgerwood Collier has always fought. The silvered 
locks of the veteran have been silvered in the cause of 
Arizona's progress, in the cause of your political faith, 
and it would be but a small tribute of the convention's 
esteem to postpone the question that has now been 
raised and adjourn until the morning.” 

As the original motion had not had time to find a 
seconder, James Marshall’s amendment, seconded by a 
dozen voices, became the only resolution before the 
meeting. The chairman promptly asked for a rising 
vote, and soon after declared the motion for adjourn- 
ment carried unanimously. 

Next morning the leading newspaper of the city de- 
voted all its energies toward finding a way out of the 
deadlock. The entire front page was occupied with an 
article that pronounced the nomination of either 
Ledgerwood Collier or his opponent to be now a 
proved impossibility. In the interests both of the 
party and of the state, some third candidate must be 
found. Then, after a reference to James Marshall’s 
splendid speech on the preceding night, it went on 
boldly to pronounce that “ he and no other was the 
obvious man of the hour, the man unfettered by fac- 
tion bonds, comparatively a new-comer to Arizona but 
all the more acceptable in the emergency that had arisen 
precisely because of this fact, a man of successful 
achievement, of proved ability, of highest honor, in 
brief a man who would be an ornament to the state 
and the ideal leader to guide its destinies to still more 
glorious achievements.” And this fervid recommen- 


300 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


dation was emphasized by a picture of James Marshall 
right in the centre of the page. 

On reading the article Jim was almost prostrated 
from shame and chagrin. What else could Ledger-' 
wood Collier think but that this was an act of treachery 
and ingratitude perpetrated by the friend and partner 
in whom he had reposed such full and implicit trust? 
Although the hour was still very early, Jim hurried 
away to the Collier home. 

He found the candidate for nomination on the ve- 
randa, placidly reading the newspaper and sipping a 
cup of coffee at the same time. Collier rose and, 
laughingly throwing down the paper, held out his hand. 

But before taking it Jim poured forth his assurances 
that he had done nothing to inspire such an editorial, 
that he had been simply astounded when he had read 
it, that he would never be a candidate and would re- 
fuse the nomination were it tendered to him. 

Ledgerwood patted Jim gently on the shoulder. 

“ You don’t need to tell me one word of all this, my 
dear fellow. You are still a greenhorn in the political 
game. Just sit down here, and let me pour you a cup 
of coffee. But right now I want to impress on you not 
to go on record with anybody except myself in regard 
to your declining a nomination. I have an idea of my 
own for winning the fight, and said idea you will see 
in due time is as full of good politics as an egg is full 
of meat. You just wait, Jim, old boy, until we re- 
assemble at ten o’clock in convention. We’ll be there 
on time, and whatever I say you must acquiesce in to 
the limit — keep that in mind. No bolting or taking 
the bit in your teeth at the end of the game. Now I 


THE NEW GOVERNOR OF ARIZONA 301 


think breakfast will be ready in the dining-room. 
Come along. All your perturbation will vanish in the 
presence of Mrs. Collier and a good beefsteak.” 

Jim accepted the invitation, thankful to be so com- 
pletely exonerated from blame, yet still unhappy and 
disturbed over the situation that had so unexpectedly 
developed. Collier delayed their departure until 
within a few minutes of ten. 

On reaching the place of convention they went 
straight to their appointed places in the centre of 
the hall. Every seat was occupied, and the galleries 
were crowded with spectators, among whom the fair 
sex predominated. Without loss of time the proceed- 
ings were formally opened, and the first man to rise 
and push his way toward the rostrum was Ledgerwood 
Collier. The old political gladiator, as he faced the 
assemblage, received a great ovation, all the delegates 
rising to their feet and cheering, while handkerchiefs 
were waved broadcast over the galleries. 

When order was at last restored, Collier spoke. 
He opened with a generous tribute to the sterling worth 
of his adversary, referred to the obviously inspired 
appeal for a compromise put forth on the previous 
evening, and then, raising his voice, swept on with 
growing eloquence : 

“ Gentlemen of the Convention, responding to that 
appeal from my opponent’s side, I shall now proceed 
to give you a name — a name wreathed around with 
the motto of his life since I first knew him — ‘ Success.’ 
I shall give you the name of a man whose nomination 
by you today for the governorship of the great state 
of Arizona will in the ripeness of time redound to 


302 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

your honor as delegates from the counties which have 
relied upon the wisdom of your deliberations. I shall 
give you a name that will not only be accepted in the 
heat and enthusiasm of this convention, but one that 
will grow in public favor with the rising and setting of 
every sun between now and the cool of November’s 
election. I shall give you the name of a man who, if 
selected for the high position of governor by this in- 
telligent body of delegates, will secure to each of you 
from your constituency a verdict of ‘ Well done, thou 
good and faithful servant.’ I shall give you a name 
that will shed lustre on our beloved state. Gentle- 
men of the Convention, I have a name to propose — 
the name of an Arizonan richly endowed with all the 
necessary qualifications of a good governor and a great 
governor. I therefore, in behalf of my party, do place 
in nomination for governor of the state of Arizona, 
Honorable James Marshall, of Phoenix.” 

Pandemonium ran wild. Every delegate in the con- 
vention was striving to get on his feet to second the 
motion so eloquently put forward by the Hon. Ledger- 
wood Collier, and a few minutes later the chairman 
declared the unanimous nomination of James Marshall 
as the standard-bearer of the party. 

At the November election following, the Hon. James 
Marshall was elected governor of the state of Arizona 
by an overwhelming majority. Little did James Mar- 
shall know of the links in his life’s history that would 
be woven in the warp and woof of his destiny between 
the day of his election and the day of his inauguration. 
Surely the children of men see through a glass but 
darkly. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


a woman’s intuition 

OUCH scenes of popular enthusiasm as those attend- 
^ ing the inauguration of the new governor, James 
Marshall, had never before been witnessed in the state 
capital of Arizona. During the period intervening 
between his nomination as the standard-bearer of his 
party and the day of his triumphant election, Jim had 
come to be known as “ the cattlemen’s candidate.’’ 
This had swung to his side thousands of doubtful 
voters, for in Arizona, as elsewhere, the soil is, after 
all, the basis of general prosperity, so that the flavor 
of the soil attaching to a man’s personality adds greatly 
to his chances of success at the polls. By his magnifi- 
cent record at the Marshall Rancho, just across the 
state boundary line, Jim had fairly earned the designa- 
tion of “ cattleman’s candidate,” although he strongly 
deprecated the additional title of “ Cattle King ” thrust 
upon him by hosts of his admirers. However, the 
brand stuck to him in spite of himself, and cattlemen 
and cowboys poured into Phoenix for inauguration 
day, bent on doing honor both to the royally successful 
cattle-rancher and the acclaimed winner for the highest 
office which it was in the power of the state to bestow. 

This made the parade a most picturesque and in- 
spiring spectacle, for the new governor’s automobile 
303 


304 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


was escorted by many hundreds of cowboys astride 
their bronchos — horses and riders decked out in all 
their bravest trappings and finery. From across the 
river had come a big contingent representing Califor- 
nia — the cowboys from the Marshall Rancho loyal 
to their old employer and proud of his success, together 
with others from Imperial Valley and cattle districts 
even further away to which his fame had spread. So 
what with the whooping and the hurrahing, the jingle 
of silver-belled harness, the cracking of whips, the flash 
of gaily colored shirts, the waving of broad-brimmed 
and sometimes feather-bedecked sombreros, the recep- 
tion of the Governor as his automobile passed slowly 
down the crowded thoroughfare leading to the Capi- 
tol came to be a veritable ovation. 

And there were friends of Jim from afar to whom 
the reception was specially delightful. From one hotel 
balcony Francois Lavigne, with his good wife Hor- 
tense by his side fluttering her handkerchief, shouted 
out a “ bravo ” that instantly drew Jim’s attention and 
elicited a glad responsive wave of his hand. At an- 
other point of vantage the new governor responded to 
an equally vigorous salute from Banker O’Meara of 
Yuma, also accompanied by his pretty wife, who dar- 
ingly sent her congratulations by a dainty kiss wafted 
from her fingertips. But best of all was the balcony 
that fronted the law offices of Collier and Marshall: 
for here the senior partner of the firm, together with 
his life-partner, had assembled a bevy of their friends, 
and the party included not only th.e leaders of Phoenix 
society but three visitors the sight of whom brought 
the misty tears to Jim Marshall’s eyes. 


A WOMAN’S INTUITION 


305 


These visitors were none ‘other than Ned Collier, 
Bessie, and Miriam. The young lovers had been mar- 
ried at Venice-by-the-Sea some ten days before, and 
Ned as a close to the honeymoon had brought his bride, 
also his mother-in-law, to visit the parental home and 
at the same time do- honor on the great occasion to 
his “ dear old chum ” of the desert days. 

As the Governor motored past he was well-nigh 
overcome with a flood of emotions. But the cheering 
and caracoling cowboys around his machine diverted 
attention and enabled him, as he bent low for a few 
moments, to regain his composure. He was just con- 
scious of Bessie’s bright face and wind-tossed curls as, 
clinging to Ned’s arm wild with excitement over the 
wonderful spectacle, she too cheered for the new gov- 
ernor and waved her handkerchief in enthusiastic 
salutation. 

The Governor passed, and standing up in his ma- 
chine so as to glance back, he again surveyed the bal- 
cony. Beneath it a drill-squad of Elks in snow-white 
uniforms, each carrying a tiny national flag on a cane, 
were now performing a series of evolutions. Bessie 
was clapping her hands with delight, Miriam was lean- 
ing over the rail also deeply interested, but dear old 
Ned was still wistfully looking after his pal. Their 
eyes seemed to meet, notwithstanding the distance, and 
Jim, swinging his hat around his head, sent back a sig- 
nal of special recognition. For Ned and Bessie had 
only arrived by the morning train, and as yet there had 
been no personal contact with the Governor. 

All the newspapers next day declared that the parade 
had been “ the greatest ever,” and the subsequent in- 


3 o6 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


augural address pronounced by Governor James Mar- 
shall the grandest oration yet heard in Arizona. 

That afternoon Jim entered into occupation of the 
gubernatorial mansion. There was a formal reception 
attended by everybody who was anybody. The new 
governor stood in the spacious drawing room, shaking 
hands with all his visitors as they passed before him 
in line, thanking his many friends for their congratu- 
lations, welcoming the strangers within the city gates, 
diffusing everywhere the kindness and geniality of his 
presence. 

At last it was Ned’s turn. 

“ Jim, old boy ” — then he faltered. “ Excuse me, 
Mr. Governor ” — again he hesitated, then laughingly 
asked : “ How the dickens am I to address you ? ” 

“ You were right the first time,” replied the Gover- 
nor, as he wrung the young fellow’s hand. “ Just Jim 
and Ned — always the same — chums as at Subma- 
rine.” 

The line behind was gently pressing on. 

“ Then, Jim, it is my joy to present to you my wife. 
Bessie — my letters from away back have told you all 
about her.” 

“ I seem to know you already very well, Mrs. Ned 
Collier,” observed the Governor, as, beaming down on 
the bride, he pressed her hand, retaining it in his own 
for a few moments longer than etiquette might have 
demanded. 

Bessie was blushing a little as she shyly glanced up 
into the great man’s eyes. Into her own, as she looked 
into his, came just the faintest trace of puzzled won- 
derment 


A WOMAN’S INTUITION 


307 


“ And my dear, good mother-in-law, Mrs. Marsh 
Gordon.” Ned was making the next introduction, so 
Bessie moved aside. 

“ Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Gordon,” said the 
Governor with courteous cordiality. “ Ned has often 
written about you, too.” Then he turned to Ned. 
“ Tonight there is an official banquet, tomorrow an ac- 
cumulation of business that must be attended to, but 
on an early day I’ll arrange that we get together. 
Your father tells me you are to be in Phoenix for a 
couple of weeks. So you’ll hear from me before very 
long.” 

The next hand-shakers were now claiming Jim's at- 
tention, and the party of three withdrew, to follow 
the example of those in the throng who had preceded 
them by going the round of the big public rooms, ad- 
miring the pictures and the sumptuous furnishings. 

Two days later there was a society picnic at the 
Roosevelt Dam to which the whole Collier house party 
had been invited. A long line of automobiles had 
departed early in the morning, Miriam accompanying 
her hosts. But Bessie, whose mood ever since the 
Governor’s official reception had been somewhat dis- 
trait and pensive, had excused herself on the plea of a 
headache, and Ned, of course, had remained at home 
to keep her company. 

“ Feeling better now, sweetheart ? ” he asked during 
the course of the afternoon as he joined her on the 
veranda. 

“ Oh, I’m all right,” she answered, raising her lips 
for a kiss. “ But somehow, Ned, I have had a pre- 
sentiment that Governor Marshall is going to send us 


308 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


his promised message today. It would be too bad to 
miss him if he sent or came, now, wouldn’t it? ” 

Ned laughed gaily. 

“ So yours was only a diplomatic headache, Bessie? 
You little schemer! Who would have thought it? 
Playing politics already, by jingo! I suppose it’s in 
the atmosphere of dear old dad’s home.” 

He paused — his eyes had wandered down the tree- 
shaded avenue. A big automobile was turning in from 
the thoroughfare. Ned resumed in great excitement: 

“ But I’ll be jiggered if you haven’t guessed right 
after all, little woman. Here comes Jim.” 

And he ran down the steps to open the door of the 
Governor’s car and bid him an enthusiastic welcome. 

“ Glad to see you, old boy. It’s mighty good of you 
to pay such small fry as we are a call. The Governor, 
my dear,” he went on as, having ascended again to the 
portico, he presented the distinguished visitor to his 
wife. “ But I’m awfully sorry dad and both the 
mamas are not at home ; they’re off to the fiesta at the 
Roosevelt Dam.” 

“ I count myself fortunate in finding you two young 
people here,” replied the Governor. “ I came more 
especially to pay my respects to the young bride, but 
I want also to invite you all to visit me at my home 
tomorrow afternoon. Home’s a funny name to call 
it, Ned. A mansion, but pretty lonely, old man, as 
compared with the shack we used to share at Sub- 
marine.” 

‘‘Those were days, weren’t they, Jim?” responded 
Ned, his face aglow. “ The best days I ever had in 
all my life.” 


A WOMAN’S INTUITION 


309 


“ Except the present ones,” corrected the Governor, 
with a benign smile in Bessie’s direction. 

“ Sure, sure,” said Ned, as he placed a loving arm 
around his young wife’s shoulders and drew her fondly 
to him. “ The best little girl in all the world, Jim, as 
I knew that very day I cut her picture out of the news- 
paper — you remember. I’ve got it yet; we’ve 
mounted it on cardboard, and I still use it as a book- 
marker.” 

Bessie blushingly protested. 

“ No tales, please, out of school.” 

But Ned audaciously kissed her. 

“ Oh, there will never be any secrets between us and 
dear old Jim.” 

“ Well, you have never even yet asked ‘ dear old 
Jim ’ to sit down,” laughed the Governor. 

“ Oh, excuse me,” Ned hastened to apologize, as he 
placed a big comfortable chair in keeping with the 
visitor’s dignified proportions. “ And now let us take 
the chance, dear old boy, of really congratulating you 
on your election. I am quite aware my dad wanted 
to be governor. But it was not on the cards. And I 
know he is sincerely rejoiced that it was on you the 
final choice fell.” 

“ It was he who nominated me,” remarked Jim. 

“ Yes, with his whole heart and soul in the nomi- 
nation — and that’s a mighty different thing from a 
perfunctory service to cover one’s own defeat. Isn’t 
that so, Jim? And he is proud today to have chosen 
the right man. Not that he ever worried about that. 
‘ An eagle’s egg produces an eagle, no difference where 
it’s hatched.’ You were new to Arizona, Jim, as com- 


3 io THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


pared with dad. But Arizona has got its eagle all 
right. Gee! I was never so happy in all my life as 
When I read the news of your election.” 

Jim looked pleased. 

“ You were always an enthusiast, Ned,” he com- 
mented with a gentle smile of approval. 

“ Well, who could be anything else but an enthusi- 
ast when you are concerned?” was the rejoinder, as 
Ned leaned over the chair, placing a hand on each of 
his friend’s shoulders. “ But my word, Jim, since I 
last saw you you’ve grown to be a mighty big man, 
both in weight and in fame. How many pounds now, 
old chap? ” 

“ Just over two hundred,” replied the Governor. 
“ I stepped on the scales the day after election.” 

“ Gee ! and I remember when you blew into Sub- 
marine you weren’t one half that weight — ninety 
pounds, if I remember right — ninety pounds of skin 
and bone, as you used to put it.” 

Ned, standing now by the side of the chair, was 
looking down on his friend, and Jim was gazing up at 
the young fellow’s animated face with an expression 
of ineffable love upon his own. 

Bessie, apart and for the moment unnoticed, was 
listening to every word and gazing with round-eyed 
wonder. At the reference to “ ninety pounds of skin 
and bone,” she pressed her hands against her bosom 
and with difficulty restrained an ejaculation of sur- 
prise. 

“ And you’ve grown a bit, too, since those days, 
old man,” remarked the Governor, as he gently stroked 
Ned’s hand resting on one arm of the chair. 


A WOMAN’S INTUITION 


3ii 

The eyes — the voice — the wonderfully sweet 
smile! This gesture was just the final completing 
touch for Bessie. How often had he not caressed her 
own hand in just the same way in the old childhood 
days? 

She no longer tried to restrain herself, but rushed 
forward with arms extended, her lips quivering, great 
tears of joy brimming in her eyes. 

“ I know who you are. You are my daddy — my 
dear, long-lost daddy.” 

And needing no confirmation of her words she flung 
her arms around Jim’s neck, nestled down like a child 
upon his knee, and, sobbing convulsively, clinging to 
him with all the fervid passion of her love and devo- 
tion, buried her face in his breast. James Marshall 
just patted his little girl’s head affectionately. Was 
any other answer required? 

It was Ned’s turn now to be overwhelmed with 
amazement. The Governor’s eyes were again raised 
to his. 

“ What does it all mean? ” exclaimed Ned. “ You 
her papa — her real papa — you , Jim ? ” 

“ Her papa, Ned. She is my own little darling 
Bessie.” 

Ned grabbed his hand. Bessie partly disentangled 
herself, and raising her radiant, although tear-stained 
face, kissed Jim fairly on the lips again and again. 

“ Daddy — oh, my dear, dear daddy,” she kept 
murmuring. 

“ Then, great guns,” exclaimed Ned, still wringing 
Jim’s hand held in both his own, “ you are my own 
dear dad, too. Think of it, Jim, I’m your son, old 


3 12 


THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


pal ” — as he spoke he disengaged one of his hands 
and laid it fondly and proudly on Bessie’s curly head. 

“ The son of my heart from the day we met,” re- 
plied Jim, as he responded to Ned’s fervent handgrip. 
The tears were now in his own eyes; his young chum 
also was profoundly stirred. 

Suddenly Bessie sat up, although she still kept her 
place on her father’s knee. She drew the little gun- 
metal watch from her belt. 

“ And look, daddy dear, look. I have worn your 
little watch ever since they sent it home, just out of 
love for you. Night and day I have listened to its 
ticking, like this ” — she placed the case against her 
dainty pink ear — “ and it always kept saying : ‘ I love 
my Bessie; I love my little Bessie/ just as you used to 
say when I was a bit of a girl and we would be walking 
home together hand in hand along the seashore at 
Venice. And often, often, when I listened to the 
tick, ticking, I seemed to be hearing your own voice, 
and could not believe that you were dead and gone. 
Oh, how I have prayed that God would send you back 
again. And now my prayer is answered, my dear, 
dear daddy.” 

Once more she kissed him. 

“ But how did you recognize me, Bessie ? I am 
changed from those old days — of skin and bone.” 

“ The thought came to me the very first time I saw 
you close — at your reception in the governor’s man- 
sion. When you shook my hand and smiled down on 
me, I whispered to myself : * How like my dear 

papa.’ And your voice, too, struck some responsive 
chord within my heart, as you said very softly : ‘ I 


A WOMAN’S INTUITION 


3i3 


seem to know you already very well.’ Oh, you see I 
remember your words exactly. I’ve been thinking, 
thinking ever since. That’s why I didn’t go to the 
picnic today, Ned. I just couldn’t join in gaiety with 
such thoughts in my mind.” 

“ Woman’s intuition,” murmured Jim, with an up- 
ward glance at Ned. “ Clever little Bessie,” he added, 
fondling the girl’s tresses. 

She was smiling now — she had dashed away her 
tears. 

“ Not much cleverness needed when you and Ned 
began speaking about ninety pounds of skin and bone 
blowing into Submarine Junction.” 

“ Gee! that’s what gave the whole show away,” Ned 
murmured, bestowing a nod and a grin on Jim. 

‘‘But, is it not wonderful?” Bessie arose and 
drew her father by both hands from his chair. 
“ What a change ! What a marvelous cure ! And 
you so big and handsome now. My word, but I’m 
proud of my daddy! ” 

“ The Governor of Arizona,” interjected Ned. 

“ I would be just as proud of him if he were only 
a poor shoe-pegger still. I always loved him for his 
own dear self. You know that, daddy dear.” 

She reached up her arms to him. Jim stooped and 
folded her again to his breast. 

“ I know it, my little darling. God bless you, Bes- 
sie dear.” 

With the tender memories evoked her voice again 
came brokenly. 

“ You remember that day in your workshop — the 
day I told you what I had said to Bernice when she 


314 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


scolded me for tagging after Burn — that she could 
just have her Burn for a sweetheart so long as I had 
my daddy for mine.” 

“ I remember,” murmured Jim. 

“ Well, Eve got my dear old sweetheart back again,” 
cried Bessie, hugging him tight. “ Eve two sweet- 
hearts now,” she went on, as she extended an arm and 
drew Ned into the triple embrace. 

“ My word, was there ever such a lucky girl ? ” 

“ Or such a lucky hubby,” said Ned, looking from 
Bessie’s happy, flushed face straight into Jim’s eyes. 

“ Or such a lucky daddy,” echoed the Governor, as 
he gathered them both to his heart. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


ned’s promotion 

"CDR an hour or more the three continued to chat on 
the veranda. Bessie listened, with tears often in 
her eyes, to the pathetic incidents that at the outset had 
befallen the homeless vagrant — the robbery by the 
hobo road-agents, the first kindness conferred by 
O’Meara, the generous hospitality extended by Ned 
at Submarine. Then came the wonderful story of 
restoration to health, the lonely years on the desert, 
the friendship with Francois Lavigne, the sale of the 
homestead acres, the transformation wrought on the 
Reilly-Burke cattle ranch, the final muster of Jim’s 
stock and the king’s ransom he received for his land 
and herds. 

At the close of the narrative, Ned expressed wonder 
why Jim had persisted in concealing his identity all 
those years. But Bessie had understood it all from 
the first — she held her father’s hand, and pressed it 
lovingly from time to time, while he explained how 
he had deliberately resolved to cut loose from the daily 
grind of slavery and try first to regain his health and 
then to achieve something worth while in the world. 

“ I gave myself ten years for the ordeal, Ned. But 
don’t think I deserted my family. I took my own 
way, Bessie dear, to make sure that you were at least 
provided for in the little home at Venice.” 

3i5 


316 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Bessie’s eyes opened wide with dawning compre- 
hension. 

YNow I begin to understand about those mysterious 
letters which mother used to get — regularly, at the 
beginning of every month. She was always on the 
outlook for the mail-carrier. She would never let me 
read one of them.” 

“ There was nothing to read, dear,” said Jim. 
“ Your mother never knew whence the money came. 
She does not know even now. But that reminds me. 
Not one word about all this to her, for the present. I 
want to break the news to your dear mama in my own 
way. I know it is a hard task I am going to impose 
on you. But I beg for absolute silence on both your 
parts until I speak the word releasing you from this 
pledge. You promise? ” 

“ Sure,” exclaimed Ned, decisively. 

“ But, oh, how shall I be able to restrain my joy 
and excitement? ” murmured Bessie. 

“ For papa’s sake, you will,” replied Jim, taking her 
hand. “ I have an important reason for asking this 
favor. So be good, little girl, and try and not look too 
happy tonight.” 

“ We’ll go to a picture show, Ned,” declared Bessie 
brightly, “ and we’ll play hookey all tomorrow morning 
till it’s time to pay our afternoon visit to the Gover- 
nor.” 

“ Capital, capital,” laughed her father. “ And now 
I’m going to take the chance, while we three are still 
alone, of mentioning some other matters — also in 
confidence for the immediate present, remember.” 

“ Fire away,” replied Ned. “ Both Bessie and 


NED’S PROMOTION 


317 


I are dyed-in-the-wool conspirators by this time/’ 

“ I need not tell you that I did my best to correct a 
lot of newspaper nonsense about my having cleaned 
up a million dollars or more from the sale of the 
Marshall Rancho. But you see, even at the figures 
I have just given you, I’m a rich man now all right. 
And I need not say that my children will be rich, too, 
when the time comes for me to pass on.” 

“ Now we’re not going in for any doleful stuff of 
this kind, old pal,” protested Ned. “ You’re not going 
to pass on for mapy, many long years. And Burn 
Plopkins — who, by the way, Jim, is a mighty good 
fellow, and bright as a new minted twenty-dollar gold 
piece as well — Burn and I are going to carve out for- 
tunes for ourselves. Just you make no mistake about 
that, my long-lost dad.” 

“ I’m sure of it,” replied Jim, with a happy smile. 
“ Don’t for a moment imagine that I want either of 
you to quit working, or to give up your ambitions, 
your ideals, everything that makes life really worth 
while. And this is just one of the things I was coming 
to, Ned. But first of all I want to give you a few 
words of sound advice, my son. Money is power — 
in the right hands a tremendous power for the benefit 
of all around. Until a man attains to wealth, or at 
least a competency, he cannot discharge in full measure 
his usefulness to humanity. And let me tell you, from 
the fruits of my own hard experiences, that it is the 
earning of the first few thousand dollars that is the 
most difficult part of the task. Money makes money 
— with a good bank balance as a start, only common 
sense, a level head, and a steady hand are required for 


3 i8 the man who discovered himself 


the accumulation of a fortune. That I have learned. 
But a man has got to have the first small capital, Ned, 
or a potential millionaire may remain an enslaved shoe- 
pegger all his days.” 

“ Poor daddy,” murmured Bessie, sympathetically 
touching his hand. “ Don’t I remember how hard you 
worked and never got out of toil and worry — ” 

“ Until I ran away from home,” interrupted Jim, 
with a laugh, “just as if I had been an adventurous 
boy. Well, I learned my lesson late, but I have learned 
it well. And I want to save you children the tough 
experiences of my early married days.” 

“ Oh, we’re just going to take our experiences as 
they come,” replied Ned. “ I begin to see what you 
are driving at, old boy. But Bessie and I need no 
helping hand — we wouldn’t miss the fun of making 
good for all the world. Isn’t that so, little girl ? ” 

Bessie nodded a bright assent. 

“ I am merely trying, Ned, to overcome your absurd 
sensitiveness about taking possession of what is right- 
fully yours,” explained Jim. 

“ I have always been jolly careful to look after 
Number One,” grinned Ned. “ Not to my knowledge 
have I ever left anything lying around that was prop- 
erly mine to stick in my pocket.” 

“ Then you will no longer refuse to take over the 
$16,000 that belongs to you as your share of the 
Submarine homestead? ” 

“ Oh, we’re not going to return to that ancient ques- 
tion, Jim. It was settled long ago. Against the law, 
old top — right there is the end to all possible argu- 
ment.” 


NED’S PROMOTION 


3i9 


“ But there is a moral obligation which cannot be 
against the law,” persisted Jim. “ That money is 
lying to your credit today at O’Meara’s bank in Yuma. 
At five per cent interest for six years, your capital 
now amounts to over $20,000. That is the nest egg, 
my dear fellow, rightfully your own, that will start 
you and Bessie prosperously and without anxiety, on 
your long years of married happiness. Shall I make 
out the check for you now ? ” 

“ Nothing doing,” answered Ned. But the words 
sounded ungracious even to his ears, for he quickly 
added : “ Though I thank you, Jim, a thousand times. 

Don’t I know your generous heart, dear old pal? ” 

Jim glanced at his daughter. 

“ Perhaps our little girl here will be more sensible? 
Since you are so very independent, Ned, I must appeal 
to Bessie to relieve me of this obligation.” 

There was pleading in his eyes — dumb earnest 
pleading which Bessie read instantly. A gift or a 
right, in either case refusal would cause him deepest 
pain. 

“ I won’t refuse the check, daddy dear,” she ex- 
claimed, with a happy smile. “ Just make it out in 
my favor. I’ll be the sensible one in our little family 
of two. It doesn’t matter how this windfall comes. 
It comes from you, and that’s enough for me ; for the 
money counts for little as compared with the deep 
fond love which I know accompanies it.” 

She rose and kissed her father on the brow. 

“ You have read my heart like a book, Bessie dear,” 
he murmured gratefully. 

Ned had tilted back his chair, and was surveying the 


320 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


rose vines drooping from the edge of the veranda roof. 
Bessie had settled the matter on her own responsi- 
bility ; it was not for him to interfere between father 
and daughter; besides he had been long enough mar- 
ried now — almost two weeks ! — to make twenty 
thousand dollars in the bank look pretty good to his 
eyes. 

Bessie had drawn her chair close to her papa’s. Her 
pretty face now wore a captivating look of seriousness 
and practicality. 

“ And we haven’t told you yet about our moving 
to San Francisco,” she said. “ That’s going to cost 
money anyhow.” 

“ Ah, on your way toward the President’s chair, 
Ned? ” smiled the Governor. “ A further step in pro- 
motion, eh?” 

“ And a big raise in his salary,” interjected Bessie, 
with a proud glance at her young husband. “ I al- 
ways told mama that Ned was a sure winner.” 

Ned’s eyes had come down from the roses. 

“ Yes, Jim,” he replied, “ everything happened at the 
same time — marriage, vacation, honeymoon, and a 
step up into the head office where I always wanted to 
belong. Would you believe it, I’ve never had a full 
week off since I left Submarine? ” He leaned back in 
his chair, and tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat arm- 
holes in his old way of bantering, self-confident au- 
dacity. “ You see I had made myself so superlatively 
indispensable that they couldn’t run the show in my 
absence. The Lord above knows how they are getting 
along without me now.” 

“ Oh, I fancy the railroad will survive, old man. 


NED’S PROMOTION 


321 


And perhaps the hour has come when it will have to 
resign itself to losing your invaluable services alto- 
gether.” 

“ What’s in the wind now? ” asked Ned. 

Jim regarded him steadily. 

“ Just this. You are the one man I absolutely re- 
quire to fill the post of private secretary to the Gover- 
nor of Arizona.” 

“ Oh, daddy,” exclaimed Bessie, clasping her hands 
against her bosom, her face shining with happiness. 
She already divined his plan to bring about a joyful 
family reunion. 

“ That’s absurd,” said Ned decisively. 

Jim’s face betrayed a twinge of disappointment. 

The young fellow quickly corrected himself by 
saying : 

“ Oh, of course, I mean the remark only to apply to 
myself, Jim. It is absurd to think that there are not 
dozens of fellows far more competent to fill such a 
responsible position than I am.” 

“ But I happen to think differently,” rejoined the 
Governor. “ I have certain humanitarian projects in 
view, ideas which you and I used to discuss for hours 
at a time in the old Submarine days, and which only 
now I have the chance to change from theory into prac- 
tice. Without your help, Ned, I am helpless. I need 
your quick brains, your skillful handling of people, 
your sympathetic understanding of what I want, your 
loyalty all the time, through all the troubles that are 
certain to beset my path. So you see, Ned, you are 
really indispensable to me. Say yes, right now, my 
dear fellow.” 


322 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Arising, he laid a hand on the other’s shoulder, and 
their eyes met. 

“ Be my dear good comrade once again,” Jim con- 
tinued to urge in a voice that vibrated with tender at- 
tachment. 

Ned was overcome. The joy of being appreciated 
now sang in his heart. 

“ Well, that certainly puts the proposition in a differ- 
ent light, my dear old Jim. If I can really be of use to 
you, then both duty and affection point the same way. 
So there’s your answer, Mr. Governor — provided 
Bessie is pleased to pitch her tent in Phoenix, Arizona,” 
he added laughingly. 

“Of course you know I’m going to be wherever you 
are, Ned. But, oh, won’t it just be delightful to be 
near daddy, too ? ” 

“ Then that’s settled, Ned,” exclaimed Jim, his hand 
extended, his face beaming with satisfaction. “ Shake, 
old man. We’ll fix up all the details tomorrow.” 

Ned shook his chum’s hand to seal the bargain. 

“ Well, I’m afraid the S. P. will go to the dogs with- 
out me,” he said with a comical smile. “ But we’ll 
have to risk that, Jim. And it will certainly be great 
working together again, eh, old boy?” 

“ A thing I have longed for mightily,” was the reply. 
“ And now, my dear ones both, I must be going. Re- 
member your promises of silence until I have the 
chance to reveal myself to your dear mother. Here is 
the governor’s courtesy card for her, Bessie, and say 
how sorry he was to have missed her today. But to- 
morrow he hopes to have the pleasure of her company 


NED’S PROMOTION 


323 


to afternoon tea. Three o’clock, please. I’ll expect 
you all about that hour.” 

With a kiss for Bessie and another warm handclasp 
for his new secretary, the Governor was gone. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND 

N EXT day the Governor was awaiting his guests. 

He stepped into the hall to greet them, and 
helped Miriam to take off the light dust cloak she was 
wearing. She stood before him, splendidly costumed, 
her dress fitting her fine figure like a glove and dis- 
playing its neat, well-rounded proportions to the best 
advantage. Her face looked up into his — not a 
wrinkle nor a crow’s-foot to mar the smooth pink and 
white complexion. She was smiling just the same old 
placid smile of languid courtesy and supreme self- 
contentment. 

“ A marvellous woman,” reflected Jim, as he took 
her hand. “ Has hardly changed in over twenty 
years. She certainly seems to have acquired the secret 
of immortal youth.” 

He had bowed, and now he spoke aloud. 

“ I am glad to welcome you to my home, Mrs. Gor- 
don. How do you do, Ned ? And I suppose I may be 
privileged to call you Bessie ” — this to the young bride 
as in turn he took her hand. “ You see, Ned in his 
letters has written so much about you two ladies that 
you seem to me just like old friends.” 

Miriam was clinging to his arm as he led the way 
toward the drawing room. The others stopped for a 
few moments to admire one of the pictures in the hall. 
324 


SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 325 


“ What a beautiful home you have, Governor,” she 
said, as she advanced and glanced around. “ Every- 
one in Phoenix is remarking how unfortunate it is that 
you are alone — that there is no lady to do the honors 
of the governor’s mansion.” 

She spoke the words with an arch upward glance. 
He betrayed just the glimmer of a smile. 

“Oh, that’s what folks are saying, is it? Well, I 
have sometimes thought so myself.” 

She gently pressed his arm. 

“ You see, I am taking the privileges you have ac- 
corded me — those of an old friend — in giving you 
the gossip of the town. But that’s what a governor 
needs, isn’t it? — someone to keep him advised of 
every detail, of every little breath that blows.” 

“ Great guns ! ” thought Jim, " is she setting her cap 
at me — or rather at the governor ? ” 

But still he smiled. 

“ Well, Mrs. Gordon, who says but that this la- 
mentable condition of things might be altered? Now, 
how would you like to be the lady of such a mansion 
as this ? ” 

Miriam’s heart jumped under her well-fitting cor- 
sage. 

“ Oh, Governor,” she replied, coyly drooping her 
eyelashes, “ you could hardly expect me to answer such 
a question.” Then she looked up again. “ But, 
frankly, you have a beautiful home, a splendid position, 
a brilliant future, and every sensible woman, every 
woman of the thinking world to which I claim to be- 
long, would say that there should be a Mrs. Marshall 
to share the responsibilities.” 


326 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ And the honors/’ drily added the Governor, as he 
settled her in a comfortable chair. 

“ Oh, the honors are merely a part of the responsi- 
bilities/’ rejoined Miriam with another fetching smile. 

In one corner of the room was a low rattan table, 
with the tea things all ready set but meanwhile covered 
with a loose piece of pink gauze. The host, however, 
had chosen for the present the centre of the room. He 
was now arranging a cosy little chair for Bessie, who 
had just come into the room. 

“ There, my dear/’ said the Governor, as she took 
the place he assigned. “ Come along, Ned; sit down. 
This is to be a preliminary get-together talk.” And 
pulling forward a fourth chair he closed the circle. 

“ I think Mrs. Gordon should first hear the news 
about the Governor’s new secretary,” he resumed. 
“ Ned and I threshed out all the details this morning.” 

“ Whatever do you mean? ” asked Miriam in great 
bewilderment. 

“ That I have resigned from the railroad, mother,” 
interposed Ned with amusing grandiloquence, “ and re- 
main in Phoenix as private secretary to His Excellency 
the Governor.” 

“ Without consulting me ? ” 

Both Ned and Jim laughed in spite of themselves. 

“ Oh, come now, that was hardly necessary,” the 
son-in-law said, patting her hand good-naturedly. 

Bessie was sitting in demure silence. Miriam 
turned to her. 

“ Does not this come to you as a surprise, Bessie ? ” 

“ Oh, no, mama dear. I told you ever so long ago 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 327 


that I was always going to stand by my Ned — and 
stand up for him, too, if he ever needs it. If he is 
going to be the secretary of the governor, why, of 
course, I am going to be the governor’s secretary’s 
wife. Sounds like one of those puzzle sentences, 
doesn’t it?” she added with a gay smile. “But it’s 
my answer, right enough.” And she shot a fond, 
proud glance at her husband. 

“ So I’m to be left all alone in Los Angeles,” sighed 
Miriam, with just a little side glance at the governor. 

“ Well, mama dear,” said Bessie, “ we were going 
in any case to San Francisco. And I don’t think 
Phoenix is a bit further away.” 

“ But I might have followed you to San Francisco, 
child. There are good society people there, naturally.” 

The Governor arched his eyebrows. 

“ And not such bad folks in Arizona, too,” he re- 
marked, a trifle crisply. “ Kind folks, at all events, 
Mrs. Gordon. And kind folks count for more in life 
than society folks. Don’t you really think so ? ” 

“ I don’t know about that,” replied Miriam, as she 
daintily rearranged the folds of her skirt. “ I have 
always loved refinement.” 

Bessie looked at her mother in some dismay. 

“ Oh, mama is just talking, Mr. Marshall. When- 
ever she comes to Phoenix Ned and I will make her 
very happy here. She’ll soon be teaching the whole 
town to go in for woman suffrage and china painting.” 

At this sally all four laughed perforce, and Miriam 
had the chance to recover the false step she had made. 

“ Oh, of course,” she observed with her sweetest 


328 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

smile, “ Phoenix is no doubt a very delightful place, 
with very interesting and delightful people. When 
does Ned take up his new appointment? ” 

“ Tomorrow morning,’’ said the Governor. “ I 
have already reserved one wing of this house for the 
youthful couple.” 

Was it a shade of jealousy that momentarily dark- 
ened Miriam’s brow ? But the others were not looking 
at her just at the moment. Bessie was clapping her 
hands with delight as she gazed at the Governor and 
exclaimed : 

“ Stay right here with you, dear da — dear Mr. 
Marshall.” 

She had fumbled the name, had almost called him 
“ daddy,” and for a moment was fairly flustered by 
the narrow escape. But Miriam had noticed nothing 
beyond the over-eager joy of voice and look. 

“ Bessie — don’t behave like a mere child,” she said, 
reprovingly. 

The mere child promptly subsided, drawing a deep 
breath of relief. At all events she had not broken her 
solemn promise to the Governor. 

But the latter was going to take no more chances. 

“ Perhaps you young people,” he said, “ would like 
to look over my beautiful gardens — you’ll find all 
sorts of rare shrubs and plants there, Ned.” 

Bessie rose with prompt alacrity. It was Miriam’s 
turn now to be agitated. Obviously the great man 
was arranging a tete-a-tete with herself. She was 
smiling now, approvingly. 

“ Well, don’t rumple up your frock, child.” 

Bessie was glad to escape. In ‘her father’s presence 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 329 


the restraint of the morning, so foreign to her frank, 
happy disposition, was now doubly intolerable. She 
felt sure she would make another slip ere very long — 
even now she felt like hugging her husband’s new em- 
ployer. So she fairly bounded from the room. 

Ned followed, after bestowing a nod of intelligence 
on Jim, as much as to say, “ Now you’ll get it over, 
old chap.” 

“ I don’t know what has come over my daughter 
today, Mr. Marshall,” remarked Miriam, apologeti- 
cally. “ Please don’t think her a regular tom-boy. 
She has been too carefully brought up for that.” 

“No apology needed, my dear Mrs. Gordon,” re- 
plied the Governor, with a genial smile. “ Well, I 
was going now to talk a little about yourself. Would 
you, too, like to come to Phoenix?” 

Again Miriam’s heart leapt. Was he going to pro- 
pose to her? Surely impossible, after such a brief 
acquaintance. Yet she swiftly reflected — Ned had 
written all those letters to his chum, real nice letters 
regarding her as well as Bessie, she could readily be- 
lieve. No doubt Mr. Marshall knew about her social 
distinction in Los Angeles and her fame as a porcelain 
painter. She smiled at him graciously. 

“ Oh, I think the change might be made a very 
agreeable one,” she replied discreetly, her eyes down- 
cast to the Turkish rug beneath her feet. 

So she did not observe the great yearning look of 
love that had come into the Governor’s face. But she 
was conscious that he had drawn his chair a little 
nearer to her own. With coyly drooped eyes she was 
still contemplating the richly colored product of an 


330 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Oriental loom. The Governor was silent. But she 
fancied she could hear him breathing hard, and felt 
encouraged to proceed : 

“ It is best for me to be quite candid with you, Mr. 
Marshall. You should know that my first marriage 
was a very unfortunate and unhappy one. My hus- 
band did not belong to my social set. His people were 
not my people — mere farmer folk, able to think or 
talk about little else than cattle and turnips. I had 
nothing in common with them, so kept myself aloof. 
Nor were his friends my friends — I would not even 
tolerate them in my house. For I was the only daugh- 
ter of a rich banker in Creston, Iowa, and had always 
been accustomed to the most refined society.” 

The Governor was now sitting bolt-upright. All 
the joy and softness had departed from his counte- 
nance. He looked as if he had been smitten between 
the eyes by a physical blow. His lips were tightly 
closed, his hands nervously clenched. 

But the toe of one of Miriam’s dainty shoes was 
toying with the fringe of the rug. She saw nothing 
of the change her words had wrought upon the listener, 
and with a little sigh of self-condolence went on with 
her tale of woe: 

“ My husband had prospects, perhaps, of advance- 
ment when I married him. But he had no soul, no 
ambition for higher things, and could never rise above 
the position of a shoe-clerk — indeed he relapsed even 
from that, and became a common shoe-pegger.” 

To cover the humiliation of this painful confession, 
Miriam dabbed her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief. 
At last she ventured to look up. The Governor was 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND 


33i 


listening — gravely as was quite natural, but not un- 
kindly she thought. 

The worst was over now. These were the things 
that he would undoubtedly come to hear about her if 
they were not known to him already from Ned. She 
ventured now to smile through the tears she had 
siphoned to her assistance — wistfully, resignedly. 

The Governor did not seek to interrupt her story. 

“ So you see it was all very miserable for me,” she 
continued. “ And to crown everything, my husband ” 
— she did not even call him her “ poor husband,” the 
listener noted — “ developed lung trouble. So the bur- 
den of carrying on the home fell upon my poor shoul- 
ders,” — the conventional adjective of commiseration 
came here all right — “ the responsibility of bringing 
up and educating my children. This was my one con- 
solation,” she went on, brightly now and with a brave 
attempt at a cheerful smile. “ For however unfor- 
tunate was my marriage, I must allow that it gave me 
two very beautiful and charming daughters. Bernice 
is even prettier than Bessie, as you’ll agree with me 
when you see her. And Bessie is a girl any mother 
would be proud of. Isn’t that so, Mr. Marshall?” 

She paused for a reply. 

“ Undoubtedly,” said the Governor, with curt in- 
cisiveness. 

“ Happily I had foreseen the inevitable end and was 
prepared. I studied china painting at Wellesley.” 

“ At Wellesley? How did you get there? ” 

“ Oh, we sold our little home in Creston, and I had 
the wisdom to devote some of the proceeds to this pur- 
pose. And my art has stood me in good stead since. 


332 


THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


Ned has no doubt told you that I have gained consider- 
able fame as a painter on china — and, let me add, 
earned a comfortable income that has enabled me to 
give to my dear girls every advantage they could de- 
sire.’ ' 

The Governor rose from his chair. He turned his 
face aside, so that Miriam did not see the smile of 
bitter contemptuousness now upon his lips. 

“ Come this way, please, Mrs. Gordon,” he said 
quietly. 

Miriam followed as he stepped over to the tea table, 
and flung back the pink gauze protecting the dainty 
little cakes and sandwiches ready for the afternoon 
refection. 

“ Do you recognize this china ? ” aske*d her host, 
pointing to the highly decorated teapot. 

“ Oh, my,” exclaimed Miriam in great delight. 
“ The tea-service I painted to fill a special order — and 
a most generous order, too, let me say.” She had 
picked up one of the delicate teacups, and was examin- 
ing it. “ See, my monogram here on the base — M.G. 
What a charming surprise! So you were one of my 
art admirers and patrons?” she asked, with quite a 
coquettish smile. 

“ It would seem so. Now kindly come with me. I 
may have another surprise for you, Mrs. Gordon.” 
He spoke bluntly — almost in a severe commanding 
tone. 

Again she followed as he preceded her out of the 
room and along a corridor. At the end of this he 
opened a door by means of a key forming one of a 
little bunch taken from his trouser pocket. 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND 


333 


“ My sanctum/’ he explained, as he threw open the 
door. 

He allowed Miriam to enter first. She uttered an 
exclamation of amazement. All around her, on man- 
tel, walls, brackets, tables, and pedestals — vases, 
plaques, bowls and so on — were products of her ar- 
tistic skill. At the first sweeping survey she could - not 
fail to see that almost every piece of painting to which 
she had ever touched a brush was here assembled in 
veritable showroom fashion. 

For a moment her heart stood still. She did not 
know whether to feel crushed or triumphant. Obvi- 
ously she had had no patron but one. James Marshall 
had been the rich client who had fallen in love with 
her art. “ Then why not in love with her?” she 
swiftly reflected. Now she understood this confiden- 
tial tete-a-tete. Triumph won the day. Her face was 
radiant as she stood with hands clasped against her 
bosom, gazing around her, flattered and elated. 

“ Why, Governor, you astonish me, you really do. 
So you have been all these years the rich and gifted 
connoisseur who could appreciate my work? How 
can I ever thank you sufficiently? Your appreciation I 
Your liberality ! ” 

“ No need for thanks now,” replied the Governor, 
with a saddened smile. 

“ Did you really take such a fancy to my china 
painting?” she asked, looking at him coquettishly. 

“ Well, I was glad that at all events you had a mar- 
ket for your wares.” 

Miriam was just a little perplexed, a little hurt, at 
the reply. But she kept on smiling. 


334 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


“ How good of you ! ” she murmured. 

“ And does not this tell you anything more? ” As 
he put the question he looked at her squarely, eye to 
eye. 

Again Miriam gave a little gasp of surprise. 

“ Oh, I begin to see. Perhaps you are also the kind 
benefactor who sent me those monthly remittances. I 
am so glad and proud. I always accepted the gifts — 
for the sake of my children, remember — in the spirit 
that it was sincere admiration for my art, the wish to 
help me to further successes, that prompted such noble 
generosity.” 

In her fervor of enthusiastic gratitude she would 
have kissed his hand. But he drew back, and for a 
moment turned aside. 

“ You never thought of your husband as the possible 
benefactor, did you? ” he asked, his face still averted, 
his voice just a little broken. 

“How could I? Oh, Ned has told me that you 
knew what happened to my husband out on the desert. 
His bones picked by coyotes ! ” She shuddered as she 
spoke the last words ; the Governor was not looking in 
her direction, but he could hear the rustle of her gown 
and her little artificial sigh. “ Surely it was best to 
forget a terrible thing like that — to try to forget him 
altogether. And really I was glad to banish him en- 
tirely from my thoughts.” 

She touched the listener’s arm in gentle pleading for 
his sympathy. But he shook her hand away. 

She was wondering at his seeming discourtesy. 
Then all at once James Marshall turned round again. 
On his face was a proud, cold look, but he spoke with 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 335 

polished courtesy — almost with deference. He 
glanced at his watch while addressing her. 

“ Excuse me, Mrs. Gordon, I have an appointment 
at the State House, and am compelled to terminate our 
interview.” 

Miriam tried desperately to hide her disappointment. 
To part, just at the very moment when she had 
brought him to the point of a proposal! 

“ So sorry,” she replied, just managing to retain 
her smile. 

" Let me escort you back to the drawing room. I’ll 
send Ned and Bessie to you, and you can have tea, even 
though I am called away.” 

“ Shall we await your return, Mr. Marshall? ” asked 
Miriam, when they were again standing beside the 
rattan table with its brave display of hand-painted 
china. 

“ I am afraid that will be useless now,” he answered, 
as he turned away and left her. 

Once more he had spoken enigmatically, and once 
more Miriam was inclined to wonder. But when she 
had dropped into a cushiony chair her complacency 
soon returned. Not so bad after all for a first inter- 
view — such was her musing. The Governor was as- 
suredly interested in her — attracted by her art, obvi- 
ously smitten, too, with her personal charms. No 
doubt he had reflected that it would be rather prema- 
ture, almost in bad taste, to propose to her on the very 
first occasion of their being alone together. Another 
opportunity would soon recur. And, leaning back in 
the luxurious chair, she closed her eyes in dreamy wait- 
ing for Bessie’s return. The dear child would make 


336 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

the tea — a cup of tea was just what Miriam required 
after a crisis so romantic and so full of gilded possi- 
bilities. 

The wife of a state governor! — in her wildest 
dreams Miriam had never ventured to indulge so lofty 
an ambition. But the prize was now within her grasp 
— might almost be counted as already won ! And such 
a handsome man, too — what a splendid physique — 
so well preserved ! What pride it would be to stand 
by his side on all state occasions, to play the hostess 
in his superb official home ! At the thought she heaved 
a contented sigh of blissful anticipation. 

As James Marshall passed through the hall and 
stopped to pick up his hat and cane, he caught a glimpse 
of his face in the mirror. He seemed to have grown 
older within the hour. But this very thought caused 
him to brace himself up and walk proudly erect. 

Bessie’s quick vision, however, was not to be de- 
ceived. She ran to meet him as his tall figure showed 
above the rose bushes. She saw his worn and haggard 
look — knew in a moment that something had occurred 
to cause him distress of mind. 

“ Why, daddy, what has happened ? ” Her hands 
were raised to the lapels of his coat, and her eyes were 
searching his. 

He smiled down upon her bravely — Marsh Gor- 
don’s old, sweet, wistful smile. 

“ Oh, Bessie dear, I have not been able to make 
your mother comprehend. I release you from your 
promise, and will leave the task to you, little girl. Go 
to your mama ; she is waiting for you to make the tea. 


“ SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 337 


Ned will follow ; I want him to walk a little way with 
me toward the State House." 

Almost before he had finished speaking Bessie had 
flown. Her husband, strolling along, now came up. 

“ Ned, old man, just a few words with you. We'll 
talk while we walk; I'm going over to my office. I 
shall come straight to the point. It is useless to think 
that my wife and I can ever live together again. I 
now know that she does not love me — has never loved 
me. That ends everything, for to me matrimonial 
relations without love are repulsive and degrading 
both to the man and to the woman." 

There was a ring in Jim’s tense, earnest tones that 
forbade discussion. Ned could only squeeze his arm 
in token of understanding and sympathy. 

“ So, Ned, the best thing for her is to leave Phoenix 
without delay — tonight if possible. She has chosen 
her career and made what she counts to be a success. 
I have made mine and will continue to do my duty to 
those around me. But our paths henceforth can never 
meet again. That is certain — positively certain. 
Now I want you to do one thing, my dear Ned. 
Please inform Miriam for me that the income from 
$50,000 United States bonds will be regularly paid to 
her for life on one condition." 

“ And this condition? ” Ned inquired. 

“ Is that she leaves the name of Marsh Gordon just 
as it is today — dead and forgotten. I am now Jim 
Marshall for all time — the name you gave me, dear 
old pal. That is the only condition I impose, and I 
shall rely on you to fix the matter just right. And 


338 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 


if you can get her safely off for Los Angeles by to- 
night’s six o’clock train, I shall be still further your 
debtor.” 

“ I’ll see to everything, Jim. Don’t fret, old boy. 
Everything is always for the best — remember your 
old philosophy.” 

“ So long then, Ned. I’ll expect to hear from you 
later. Bessie will be waiting for you in the drawing 
room.” With this the Governor strode away. 

Meanwhile Bessie had burst in upon her mother. 
At the sound of the hurried footsteps Miriam started 
up from her reposeful attitude. 

“ Ring for the maid, Bessie. We’ll have our tea 
now. Unfortunately the dear Governor has been 
called away on official business. Too bad. But we 
are all really quite at home here.” 

As she spoke Miriam smiled in a complacent manner 
and glanced around the room with an air of proprietor- 
ship. For a moment Bessie stood transfixed with min- 
gled anguish and amazement. Then she darted to her 
mother and impatiently shook her by the shoulder. 

“ Good heavens, mama, don’t you know who the 
Governor is? He’s our papa. He’s my dear, dear 
daddy.” 

There were tears in Bessie’s voice — tears of joy, 
and in her eyes the longing hope that the revelation 
might be joyous, too, for her mother. 

But that hope quickly died when she saw the ghastly 
look of horror and dismay that spread over Miriam’s 
countenance. 

“What! What! Your father — Marsh Gordon 
— my husband ? ” she fairly shrieked. “ And to 


" SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 339 


think of my confession. It was a lie, a lie, a lie ! Oh, 
Marsh, Marsh, Marsh ! ” 

There was wild, terror-stricken incredulity in the 
cry. But all the same, full realization of the truth 
had come to Miriam like a blinding flash. Shame for 
the words she had spoken, regrets for the chance she 
had blindly thrown away, simply overwhelmed her. 
At first into her cheeks had stolen an ashen pallor, but 
now they turned to crimson and she bowed her head 
into a bended elbow to hide the tell-tale blushes from 
her child. 

But Bessie had divined the truth. 

“ I know what you did. You spoke slightingly to 
him about my daddy. And I warned you, oh, I 
warned you, mama, never to do that again.” 

A great sob broke from the girl's throat, and tears 
gathered in her eyes. Miriam, too, was weeping, and 
moaning piteously as she wept : “ I know — I know 

it all now. And he tried so hard to open my eyes. 
But I did not see, I could not see, I would not see. 
Oh, was there ever a more unfortunate woman? ” 

At sight of such sorrow poor Bessie was deeply 
affected. She dropped on her knees, and sought to 
soothe and console her heart-broken mother. 

A few minutes passed. Then Bessie whispered : 

“ Hush, hush, mama dear. Here comes Ned. I 
can hear him in the hall.” 

When Ned entered the room, Miriam was sitting up, 
tearful but composed. 

“ Such amazing news,” she murmured, as she lan- 
guidly extended her hand. “ I have been quite over- 
come, naturally. Of course after all these years of 


340 THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED HIMSELF 

separation certain things are impossible. I could never 
dream of sacrificing my artistic career.” 

“ Then you are going back to Los Angeles, 
mother? ” asked Ned. 

“ Assuredly.” 

“ Tonight? The train leaves a few minutes after 
six.” 

Was it a mere question or a suggestion? She 
looked at him curiously. 

“ Yes, tonight,” she promptly decided. “ Come 
along, children. You will help me to get ready for the 
journey.” 

Later in the evening, from the tower of the State 
House, the Governor watched the train pull out. He 
had already seen Ned on the platform busy over Mir- 
iam’s hand baggage, and Bessie folded to her mother’s 
breast as they kissed goodby. Then the train was 
gone. And now the young couple were sauntering 
away into the falling shadows of the night. 

For an hour or more James Marshall lingered in 
the solitary tower, plunged in deep thought. He 
watched the moon as it slowly and majestically rose 
over the rim of distant hills; the great orb was nearly 
full, and flooded the bowl-like valley beneath his gaze 
with silvery effulgence. The night wind came up 
softly from the south, bringing the fragrance of orange 
blossoms. Everything was very still — from far- 
away Jim could even hear the lamenting howl of a 
coyote. He thought of the lame, lone coyote he used 
to feed near Submarine. It was only pity now that 
filled his soul as he again murmured the familiar lines : 


SHE NEVER COULD UNDERSTAND ” 341 


And it isn't the shame, and it isn't the blame, 

That stings like a white-hot brand — 

It's coming to know that she never knew why 

And never could understand. 

Then, descending the steps, he turned away along 
the deserted street toward the governor’s mansion. 
The few remaining dead leaves of the shade trees cut 
the moon’s rays on the sidewalk below into figured lace- 
work. It had come to James Marshall that great sor- 
rows of the heart are not infrequently like wrinkles 
of pain ironed away by time, and covered over with 
dead-sea ashes of forgetfulness. His belief was stim- 
ulated anew by a knowledge everlasting that “If a 
man die, yet shall he live again ” — live in the immor- 
tality of biology — in little children yet unborn. 


THE END 






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